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The Three Musketeers
Twenty Years Later
The Vicomte De Bragelonne
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The Three Musketeers 84 at Prostate Health
Am I deceived? Is it not so, madame?"
"Oh, my God, my God!" murmured the queen, whose teeth chattered
with fright.
"Well, those studs," continued Mme. Bonacieux, "we must have them
back again."
"Yes, without doubt, it is necessary," cried the queen; "but how
am I to act? How can it be effected?"
"Someone must be sent to the duke."
"But who, who? In whom can I trust?"
"Place confidence in me, madame; do me that honor, my queen, and
I will find a messenger."
"But I must write."
"Oh, yes; that is indispensable. Two words from the hand of your
Majesty and your private seal."
"But these two words would bring about my condemnation, divorce,
exile!"
"Yes, if they fell into infamous hands. But I will answer for
these two words being delivered to their address."
"Oh, my God! I must then place my life, my honor, my reputation,
in your hands?"
"Yes, yes, madame, you must; and I will save them all."
"But how? Tell me at least the means."
"My husband had been at liberty these two or three days. I have
not yet had time to see him again. He is a worthy, honest man
who entertains neither love nor hatred for anybody. He will do
anything I wish. He will set out upon receiving an order from
me, without knowing what he carries, and he will carry your
Majestys letter, without even knowing it is from your Majesty,
to the address which is on it."
The queen took the two hands of the young woman with a burst of
emotion, gazed at her as if to read her very heart, and seeing
nothing but sincerity in her beautiful eyes, embraced her
tenderly.
"Do that," cried she, "and you will have saved my life, you will
have saved my honor!"
"Do not exaggerate the service I have the happiness to render
your Majesty. I have nothing to save for your Majesty; you are
only the victim of perfidious plots."
"That is true, that is true, my child," said the queen, "you are
right."
"Give me then, that letter, madame; time presses."
The queen ran to a little table, on which were ink, paper, and
pens. She wrote two lines, sealed the letter with her private
seal, and gave it to Mme. Bonacieux.
"And now," said the queen, "we are forgetting one very necessary
thing."
"What is that, madame?"
"Money."
Mme. Bonacieux blushed.
"Yes, that is true," said she, "and I will confess to your
Majesty that my husband--"
"Your husband has none. Is that what you would say?"
"He has some, but he is very avaricious; that is his fault.
Nevertheless, let not your Majesty be uneasy, we will find
means."
"And I have none, either," said the queen. Those who have read
the MEMOIRS of Mme. de Motteville will not be astonished at this
reply. "But wait a minute."
Anne of Austria ran to her jewel case.
"Here," said she, "here is a ring of great value, as I have been
assured. It came from my brother, the King of Spain. It is
mine, and I am at liberty to dispose of it. Take this ring;
raise money with it, and let your husband set out."
"In an hour you shall be obeyed."
"You see the address," said the queen, speaking so low that Mme.
Bonacieux could hardly hear what she said, "To my Lord Duke of
Buckingham, London."
"The letter shall be given to himself."
"Generous girl!" cried Anne of Austria.
Mme. Bonacieux kissed the hands of the queen, concealed the paper
in the bosom of her dress, and disappeared with the lightness of
a bird.
Ten minutes afterward she was at home. As she told the queen,
she had not seen her husband since his liberation; she was
ignorant of the change that had taken place in him with respect
to the cardinal--a change which had since been strengthened by
two or three visits from the Comte de Rochefort, who had become
the best friend of Bonacieux, and had persuaded him, without much
trouble, was putting his house in order, the furniture of which he
had found mostly broken and his closets nearly empty--justice not
being one of the three things which King Solomon names as leaving
no traces of their passage. As to the servant, she had run away at
the moment of her masters arrest. Terror had had such an effect
upon the poor girl that she had never ceased walking from Paris
till she reached Burgundy, her native place.
The worthy mercer
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