“And then,” continued Mme. Bonacieux, “my punishment is drawing to a close. Tomorrow, this evening, perhaps, I shall see him again; and then the past will no longer exist.”
“This evening?” asked Milady, roused from her reverie by these words. “What do you mean? Do you expect news from him?”
“I expect himself.”
“Himself? D’Artagnan here?”
“Himself!”
“But that’s impossible! He is at the siege of La Rochelle with the cardinal. He will not return till after the taking of the city.”
“Ah, you fancy so! But is there anything impossible for my D’Artagnan, the noble and loyal gentleman?”
“Oh, I cannot believe you!”
“Well, read, then!” said the unhappy young woman, in the excess of her pride and joy, presenting a letter to Milady.
“The writing of Madame de Chevreuse!” said Milady to herself. “Ah, I always thought there was some secret understanding in that quarter!” And she greedily read the following few lines: