“Well!” resumed the citizen, “well, Monsieur, my wife was abducted yesterday morning, as she was coming out of her workroom.”
“And by whom was your wife abducted?”
“I know nothing surely, Monsieur, but I suspect someone.”
“And who is the person whom you suspect?”
“A man who has pursued her a long time.”
“The devil!”
“But allow me to tell you, Monsieur,” continued the citizen, “that I am convinced that there is less love than politics in all this.”
“Less love than politics,” replied d’Artagnan, with a reflective air; “and what do you suspect?”
“I do not know whether I ought to tell you what I suspect.”
“Monsieur, I beg you to observe that I ask you absolutely nothing. It is you who have come to me. It is you who have told me that you had a secret to confide in me. Act, then, as you think proper; there is still time to withdraw.”
“No, Monsieur, no; you appear to be an honest young man, and I will have confidence in you. I believe, then, that it is not on account of any intrigues of her own that my wife has been arrested, but because of those of a lady much greater than herself.”
“Ah, ah! Can it be on account of the amours of Madame de Bois-Tracy?” said d’Artagnan, wishing to have the air, in the eyes of the citizen, of being posted as to court affairs.
“Higher, Monsieur, higher.”