The Three Musketeers
Instead of returning directly home, d'Artagnan alighted at the door of M. de Treville, and
ran quickly up the stairs. This time he had decided to relate all that had passed. M. de
Treville would doubtless give him good advice as to the whole affair. Besides, as M. de
Treville saw the queen almost daily, he might be able to draw from her Majesty some
intelligence of the poor young woman, whom they were doubtless making pay very
dearly for her devotedness to her mistress.
M. de Treville listened to the young man's account with a seriousness which proved that
he saw something else in this adventure besides a love affair. When d'Artagnan had
finished, he said, "Hum! All this savors of his Eminence, a league off."
"But what is to be done?" said d'Artagnan.
"Nothing, absolutely nothing, at present, but quitting Paris, as I told you, as soon as
possible. I will see the queen; I will relate to her the details of the disappearance of this
poor woman, of which she is no doubt ignorant. These details will guide her on her part,
and on your return, I shall perhaps have some good news to tell you. Rely on me."
D'Artagnan knew that, although a Gascon, M. de Treville was not in the habit of making
promises, and that when by chance he did promise, he more than kept his word. He
bowed to him, then, full of gratitude for the past and for the future; and the worthy
captain, who on his side felt a lively interest in this young man, so brave and so resolute,
pressed his hand kindly, wishing him a pleasant journey.
Determined to put the advice of M. de Treville in practice instantly, d'Artagnan directed
his course toward the Rue des Fossoyeurs, in order to superintend the packing of his
valise. On approaching the house, he perceived M. Bonacieux in morning costume,
standing at his threshold. All that the prudent Planchet had said to him the preceding
evening about the sinister character of the old man recurred to the mind of d'Artagnan,
who looked at him with more attention than he had done before. In fact, in addition to
that yellow, sickly paleness which indicates the insinuation of the bile in the blood, and
which might, besides, be accidental, d'Artagnan remarked something perfidiously
significant in the play of the wrinkled features of his countenance. A rogue does not
laugh in the same way that an honest man does; a hypocrite does not shed the tears of a
man of good faith. All falsehood is a mask; and however well made the mask may be,
with a little attention we may always succeed in distinguishing it from the true face.
It appeared, then, to d'Artagnan that M. Bonacieux wore a mask, and likewise that that
mask was most disagreeable to look upon. In consequence of this feeling of repugnance,
he was about to pass without speaking to him, but, as he had done the day before, M.
Bonacieux accosted him.