"Mademoiselle de la Valliere herself, I suppose you mean?" said D'Artagnan, with a smile. "Ah! a famous idea that! You wish to be consoled by some one, and you will be so at once. She will tell you nothing ill of herself, of course. So be off."
"You are mistaken, monsieur," replied Raoul; "the woman I mean will tell me all the evil she possibly can."
"You allude to Montalais, I suppose—her friend; a woman who, on that account, will exaggerate all that is either bad or good in the matter. Do not talk to Montalais, my good fellow."
"You have some reason for wishing me not to talk with Montalais?"
"Well, I admit it. And, in point of fact, why should I play with you as a cat does with a poor mouse? You distress me, you do indeed. And if I wish you not to speak to Montalais just now, it is because you will be betraying your secret, and people will take advantage of it. Wait, if you can."
"I cannot."
"So much the worse. Why, you see, Raoul, if I had an idea—but I have not got one."
"Promise that you will pity me, my friend, that is all I need, and leave me to get out of the affair by myself."
"Oh! yes, indeed, in order that you may get deeper into the mire! A capital idea, truly! go and sit down at that table and take a pen in your hand."
"What for?"