Milady opened the window, and made a sign to Mme. Bonacieux to join her. 
The young woman complied.

Rochefort passed at a gallop.

“Adieu, brother!” cried Milady.

The chevalier raised his head, saw the two young women, and without stopping, waved his hand in a friendly way to Milady.

“The good George!” said she, closing the window with an expression of countenance full of affection and melancholy.  And she resumed her seat, as if plunged in reflections entirely personal.

“Dear lady,” said Mme. Bonacieux, “pardon me for interrupting you; but what do you advise me to do?  Good heaven!  You have more experience than I have.  Speak; I will listen.”

“In the first place,” said Milady, “it is possible I may be deceived, and that d’Artagnan and his friends may really come to your assistance.”

“Oh, that would be too much!” cried Mme. Bonacieux, “so much happiness is not in store for me!”

“Then you comprehend it would be only a question of time, a sort of race, which should arrive first.  If your friends are the more speedy, you are to be saved; if the satellites of the cardinal, you are lost.”

“Oh, yes, yes; lost beyond redemption!  What, then, to do?  What to do?”

“There would be a very simple means, very natural—­”

“Tell me what!”

“To wait, concealed in the neighborhood, and assure yourself who are the men who come to ask for you.”

“But where can I wait?”

“Oh, there is no difficulty in that.  I shall stop and conceal myself a few leagues hence until my brother can rejoin me.  Well, I take you with me; we conceal ourselves, and wait together.”

“But I shall not be allowed to go; I am almost a prisoner.”

“As they believe that I go in consequence of an order from the cardinal, no one will believe you anxious to follow me.”

“Well?”

“Well!  The carriage is at the door; you bid me adieu; you mount the step to embrace me a last time; my brother’s servant, who comes to fetch me, is told how to proceed; he makes a sign to the postillion, and we set off at a gallop.”

“But d’Artagnan!  D’Artagnan! if he comes?”

“Shall we not know it?”

“How?”

“Nothing easier.  We will send my brother’s servant back to Bethune, whom, as I told you, we can trust.  He shall assume a disguise, and place himself in front of the convent.  If the emissaries of the cardinal arrive, he will take no notice; if it is Monsieur d’Artagnan and his friends, he will bring them to us.”

“He knows them, then?”

“Doubtless.  Has he not seen Monsieur d’Artagnan at my house?”

“Oh, yes, yes; you are right.  Thus all may go well—­all may be for the best; but we do not go far from this place?”

“Seven or eight leagues at the most.  We will keep on the frontiers, for instance; and at the first alarm we can leave France.”