“Oh, you beautiful, good little creature!” said Milady.  “How delighted I am to have found you!  Let me look at you!” and while saying these words, she absolutely devoured her by her looks.  “Oh, yes it is you indeed!  From what he has told me, I know you now.  I recognize you perfectly.”

The poor young woman could not possibly suspect what frightful cruelty was behind the rampart of that pure brow, behind those brilliant eyes in which she read nothing but interest and compassion.

“Then you know what I have suffered,” said Mme. Bonacieux, “since he has told you what he has suffered; but to suffer for him is happiness.”

Milady replied mechanically, “Yes, that is happiness.”  She was thinking of something else.

“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: 

My Dear Child, Hold yourself ready.  Our friend will see you soon, and he will only see you to release you from that imprisonment in which your safety required you should be concealed.  Prepare, then, for your departure, and never despair of us.

Our charming Gascon has just proved himself as brave and faithful as ever.  Tell him that certain parties are grateful for the warning he has given.

“Yes, yes,” said Milady; “the letter is precise.  Do you know what that warning was?”

“No, I only suspect he has warned the queen against some fresh machinations of the cardinal.”

“Yes, that’s it, no doubt!” said Milady, returning the letter to Mme. Bonacieux, and letting her head sink pensively upon her bosom.

At that moment they heard the gallop of a horse.

“Oh!” cried Mme. Bonacieux, darting to the window, “can it be he?”

Milady remained still in bed, petrified by surprise; so many unexpected things happened to her all at once that for the first time she was at a loss.

“He, he!” murmured she; “can it be he?” And she remained in bed with her eyes fixed.