“The discussion is going to begin again!” said Madame Bonacieux, with a half-smile which was not exempt from a tinge of impatience.

“No, no; I go, I depart! I believe in you, and I would have all the merit of my devotion, even if that devotion were stupidity. Adieu, Madame, adieu!”

And as if he only felt strength to detach himself by a violent effort from the hand he held, he sprang away, running, while Madame Bonacieux knocked, as at the shutter, three light and regular taps. When he had gained the angle of the street, he turned. The door had been opened, and shut again; the mercer’s pretty wife had disappeared.

D’Artagnan pursued his way. He had given his word not to watch Madame Bonacieux, and if his life had depended upon the spot to which she was going or upon the person who should accompany her, d’Artagnan would have returned home, since he had so promised. Five minutes later he was in the Rue des Fossoyeurs.