“My faith!” said the young man, laughing, “I confess it, and so much more the readily, my dear Bonacieux, as I see there is no concealing anything from you. Yes, I was expected, and very impatiently, I acknowledge.”
A slight shade passed over the brow of Bonacieux, but so slight that d’Artagnan did not perceive it.
“And we are going to be recompensed for our diligence?” continued the mercer, with a trifling alteration in his voice—so trifling, indeed, that d’Artagnan did not perceive it any more than he had the momentary shade which, an instant before, had darkened the countenance of the worthy man.
“Ah, may you be a true prophet!” said d’Artagnan, laughing.
“No; what I say,” replied Bonacieux, “is only that I may know whether I am delaying you.”
“Why that question, my dear host?” asked d’Artagnan. “Do you intend to sit up for me?”
“No; but since my arrest and the robbery that was committed in my house, I am alarmed every time I hear a door open, particularly in the night. What the deuce can you expect? I am no swordsman.”
“Well, don’t be alarmed if I return at one, two or three o’clock in the morning; indeed, do not be alarmed if I do not come at all.”
This time Bonacieux became so pale that d’Artagnan could not help perceiving it, and asked him what was the matter.
“Nothing,” replied Bonacieux, “nothing. Since my misfortunes I have been subject to faintnesses, which seize me all at once, and I have just felt a cold shiver. Pay no attention to it; you have nothing to occupy yourself with but being happy.”