“Thank you, Monsieur Dulaurier,” said the queen; “and what is your business?”
“Madame, I am a clothier in the Rue Bourdonnais.”
“That is all I wished to know,” said the queen. “Much obliged to you, Monsieur Dulaurier. You will hear again from me.”
“Come, come,” thought D’Artagnan, emerging from behind the curtain, “decidedly Monsieur Planchet is no fool; it is evident he has been brought up in a good school.”
The different actors in this strange scene remained facing one another, without uttering a single word; the queen standing near the door, D’Artagnan half out of his hiding place, the king raised on his elbow, ready to fall down on his bed again at the slightest sound that would indicate the return of the multitude, but instead of approaching, the noise became more and more distant and very soon it died entirely away.
The queen breathed more freely. D’Artagnan wiped his damp forehead and the king slid off his bed, saying, “Let us go.”
At this moment Laporte reappeared.
“Well?” asked the queen
“Well, madame,” replied the valet, “I followed them as far as the gates. They announced to all their comrades that they had seen the king and that the queen had spoken to them; and, in fact, they went away quite proud and happy.”
“Oh, the miserable wretches!” murmured the queen, “they shall pay dearly for their boldness, and it is I who promise this.”