“Yes, that is my name.”
“You said, then, by the word of Bonacieux. Pardon me for interrupting you, but it appears to me that that name is familiar to me.”
“Possibly, monsieur. I am your landlord.”
“Ah, ah!” said D’Artagnan, half rising and bowing; “you are my landlord?”
“Yes, monsieur, yes. And as it is three months since you have been here, and though, distracted as you must be in your important occupations, you have forgotten to pay me my rent—as, I say, I have not tormented you a single instant, I thought you would appreciate my delicacy.”
“How can it be otherwise, my dear Bonacieux?” replied D’Artagnan; “trust me, I am fully grateful for such unparalleled conduct, and if, as I told you, I can be of any service to you—”
“I believe you, monsieur, I believe you; and as I was about to say, by the word of Bonacieux, I have confidence in you.”
“Finish, then, what you were about to say.”
The citizen took a paper from his pocket, and presented it to D’Artagnan.
“A letter?” said the young man.