“The devil!” said d’Artagnan to himself.  “It seems like a woman!  They search her; she resists; they use force—­the scoundrels!”

In spite of his prudence, d’Artagnan restrained himself with great difficulty from taking a part in the scene that was going on below.

“But I tell you that I am the mistress of the house, gentlemen!  I tell you I am Madame Bonacieux; I tell you I belong to the queen!” cried the unfortunate woman.

“Madame Bonacieux!” murmured d’Artagnan.  “Can I be so lucky as to find what everybody is seeking for?”

The voice became more and more indistinct; a tumultuous movement shook the partition.  The victim resisted as much as a woman could resist four men.

“Pardon, gentlemen—­par—­” murmured the voice, which could now only be heard in inarticulate sounds.

“They are binding her; they are going to drag her away,” cried d’Artagnan to himself, springing up from the floor.  “My sword!  Good, it is by my side!  Planchet!”

“Monsieur.”

“Run and seek Athos, Porthos and Aramis.  One of the three will certainly be at home, perhaps all three.  Tell them to take arms, to come here, and to run!  Ah, I remember, Athos is at Monsieur de Treville’s.”

“But where are you going, monsieur, where are you going?”

“I am going down by the window, in order to be there the sooner,” cried d’Artagnan.  “You put back the boards, sweep the floor, go out at the door, and run as I told you.”

“Oh, monsieur!  Monsieur!  You will kill yourself,” cried Planchet.

“Hold your tongue, stupid fellow,” said d’Artagnan; and laying hold of the casement, he let himself gently down from the first story, which fortunately was not very elevated, without doing himself the slightest injury.

He then went straight to the door and knocked, murmuring, “I will go myself and be caught in the mousetrap, but woe be to the cats that shall pounce upon such a mouse!”

The knocker had scarcely sounded under the hand of the young man before the tumult ceased, steps approached, the door was opened, and d’Artagnan, sword in hand, rushed into the rooms of M. Bonacieux, the door of which doubtless acted upon by a spring, closed after him.

Then those who dwelt in Bonacieux’s unfortunate house, together with the nearest neighbors, heard loud cries, stamping of feet, clashing of swords, and breaking of furniture.  A moment after, those who, surprised by this tumult, had gone to their windows to learn the cause of it, saw the door open, and four men, clothed in black, not come out of it, but fly, like so many frightened crows, leaving on the ground and on the corners of the furniture, feathers from their wings; that is to say, patches of their clothes and fragments of their cloaks.

D’Artagnan was conqueror—­without much effort, it must be confessed, for only one of the officers was armed, and even he defended himself for form’s sake.  It is true that the three others had endeavored to knock the young man down with chairs, stools, and crockery; but two or three scratches made by the Gascon’s blade terrified them.  Ten minutes sufficed for their defeat, and d’Artagnan remained master of the field of battle.