cavaliers, Bonacieux paled into insignificance. D'Artagnan, on the other hand, was young, muscular, dashing, and good-looking and what he lacked in courtly manners he more than made up for in enthusiasm. What with the bowing, the hand-kissing, the putting of the arms around the shoulders to comfort an obviously distressed young woman, it took about twenty minutes for the comforting to travel from Bonacieux's front door to D'Artagnan's bedroom.
Between hugs and kisses and please-don'ts and no-I-really-shouldn'ts, Constance explained the circumstances of her abduction. She did not, however, go into too great detail. She did not tell D'Artagnan that word had reached Anne, through the usual secret channels, that the Duke of Buckingham had received her letter and had arrived in Paris in answer to her summons. Anne was understandably distressed, for she had written no such letter. Clearly, the whole thing was a trap to snare her lover, an enemy of France. Someone close to her was an informer, doubtless in the pay of Louis or, even worse, of Richelieu. Having no one else to trust, Anne had turned to Constance, pleading with her to go to the house of Camille de Bois-Tracy and warn the duke of treachery. She had been on her way to the house in the Rue de la Harpe when she had been taken by a group of men commanded by the Count de Rochefort.
The account she gave D'Artagnan was deliberately vague and it was accepted without prying questions because the Gascon's mind was less intent on conversation than on pressing his seduction of his landlord's pretty wife, which process progressed with faint cries of protestation and only token physical resistence. (Please-no, don't, oh-monsieur-I'm-only-a-weak-woman.)
There had been a lengthy pause during which the extent of her weakness was explored. All the while, Constance clung to him and chattered on about the terrors of her captivity, as though the shock of the ordeal had been so great that she did not quite know what she was doing. Upon hearing her denounce 'that scar-faced lackey of the cardinal,' D'Artagnan recalled the man in Meung and he pressed her for details. In due course, he learned that the man whose path had crossed his in the tavern was none other than the Count de Rochefort, Richelieu's right-hand man.
With the 'explanation' out of the way, D'Artagnan was able to think a bit more clearly. As he dressed, he came to the conclusion that the house of Bonacieux would be the first place the guards would look when they discovered that their prisoner had escaped. Therefore, he elected to take Constance to the home of his friend Athos for safekeeping. When they arrived at Athos's apartment in the Rue Ferou, the musketeer was out. D'Artagnan had a key, however, and he let them in, informing her whose house it was and that she would be safe there. With Athos being out, something else occurred to D'Artagnan, but before she would agree to give him any further 'explanations,' Constance prevailed upon him to undertake an errand for her. He was to present himself at the wicket of the Louvre, on the side of the Rue de l'Echelle, and ask for one Germain.
'What then?' said D'Artagnan, feeling a great deal of impatience.
'He will ask you what you want,' said Constance, 'and you will answer by these two words-Tours and Bruxelles. He will immediately be at your command.'
'And what shall I order him to do?' D'Artagnan said, not so curious about the peculiar task as he was anxious to get it out of the way.
'You shall ask him to go and fetch the queen's valet de chambre,' Constance said, 'and then send him to me.'
D'Artagnan left in a great hurry, mindful of the fact that the sooner he returned, the sooner Constance could explain the whole affair to him. He did as he was told and he presented himself at the small gate at the Louvre. He gave the message to Germain and Germain replied, further perplexing him, by advising him to seek out a friend whose clock was too slow so that he would have an alibi, since the errand he was on could bring him trouble. It was all becoming quite mysterious.
D'Artagnan immediately set out to see Captain de Treville. Arriving there, he turned the clock back three- quarters of an hour and spent some time in idle talk with the old solider, during which discussion he made a point to remark upon the time. That being done and his alibi being secured in case someone should question him about his whereabouts that evening, D'Artagnan paused only long enough to turn the clock forward to the proper time before setting out to the house on the Rue Ferou and a further explanation of these mysterious goings-on. En route, he thought of Constance and the good fortune that had brought him to his present state. He had left home penniless and now he was in Paris, a cadet soon to become a musketeer, with friends as illustrious as Athos, Aramis, and Porthos and a sponsor as distinguished as Captain de Treville. He had new clothes, a situation, comfortable quarters for which, having restored Constance to her husband, he would no longer have to pay and he now had a lover who, being married, would be in no position to make unreasonable demands upon him. All in all, he had done quite well for himself. It only remained for him to become a musketeer, to avenge himself upon that scoundrel, the Count de Rochefort, and to discover the identity and whereabouts of that mysterious woman he had seen at the Carmes-Dechaux. But for the moment, he had Constance.
To D'Artagnan, she was femininity incarnate. She had soft blue eyes and long dark hair, a pretty turned-up nose and a trim figure with a full bosom and long, slender legs. At twenty-five, she was a little older than he was, but that only served to make her more desirable. True, she was extremely talkative, but then there were advantages to that as well; he would be put to no great strain to supply entertaining conversation. And the fact that she seemed to be involved in some matter of questionable legality meant that she would require a protector-and who better suited to the job than he?
As he passed the Rue Cassette, he spied a figure hurrying furtively out of the Rue Servadoni. The wind blew back the hood of the figure's cloak and it was hurriedly pulled back in place, but not before D'Artagnan had seen that the person so stealthily abroad in the darkening streets of Paris was none other than Constance Bonacieux. Having told her that he would return as soon as the errand she had sent him on had been completed, he was puzzled to see her rushing through the streets, obviously intent on something. Keeping at a distance, he followed her through several streets and alleys until she came to the door of a house on the Rue de la Harpe. She knocked three times upon the door, glancing all about her, paused, then knocked three times more. The door was opened and she could be seen to have some words with someone inside the house. D'Artagnan watched, puzzled. A moment later, Constance stepped back and a tall man enveloped in a long cloak and wearing a large hat pulled low over his face appeared. He took her arm and together they hurried off into the night.
'So that's it!' thought D'Artagnan. 'I am sent on some fool's errand to be got out of the way so that she can run off and see another lover!'
Outraged, D'Artagnan hurried after them. He caught up to them in an alley off the Rue Vaugirard. He passed them at a run, then turned and drew his rapier, blocking their path.
'So!' he said, 'This is how I'm treated, is it?'
Constance gasped and backed off a step.
'Monsieur, I do not know you,' said the stranger. 'It seems that you have taken me for someone else. We have no quarrel. Kindly step aside.'
'D'Artagnan, have you gone insane?' said Constance.
'You know this man?' the stranger said.
'Indeed, she knows me very well, Monsieur,' D'Artagnan said. 'And I would ask how it is that you come to know her.'
'D'Artagnan, don't be a fool,' said Constance. 'This does not concern you.'
'Does not concern me!'
'The lady's right,' the stranger said, 'this is none of your affair. You are interfering in something you know nothing about and it would be well for you to sheathe your sword and continue on your way.'
'Sheathe my sword? No, Monsieur, better that you draw yours and give an accounting of yourself!'
'Very well, if you insist,' said the stranger, throwing back his cloak and drawing his own rapier.
'Milord, please!' cried Constance.
D'Artagnan frowned. 'Milord?'
'Yes, you fool,' said Constance. 'Milord, the Duke of Buckingham! And now you'll ruin us all!'
Suddenly, it all became quite clear. For the prime minister of England to be the lover of a lowly lady's maid in Paris was laughable. If he desired a lady's maid, there would be no scarcity of them in London. But if he desired that maid's mistress…
'A thousand pardons, Milord,' D'Artagnan said, lowering his sword. 'I fear I've made a dreadful error. But I love her, you see, and I was jealous, and I… Please pardon me, Your Grace, and say how I may serve you.'
