“Ah, Monsieur,” said Planchet, on perceiving d’Artagnan, “how glad I am to see you.”
“Why so, Planchet?” asked the young man.
“Do you place confidence in our landlord— M. Bonacieux?”
“I? Not the least in the world.”
“Oh, you do quite right, Monsieur.”
“But why this question?”
“Because, while you were talking with him, I watched you without listening to you; and, Monsieur, his countenance changed color two or three times!”
“Bah!”
“Preoccupied as Monsieur was with the letter he had received, he did not observe that; but I, whom the strange fashion in which that letter came into the house had placed on my guard—I did not lose a movement of his features.”
“And you found it?”
“Traitorous, Monsieur.”
“Indeed!”
“Still more; as soon as Monsieur had left and disappeared round the corner of the street, M. Bonacieux took his hat, shut his door, and set off at a quick pace in an opposite direction.”
“It seems you are right, Planchet; all this appears to be a little mysterious; and be assured that we will not pay him our rent until the matter shall be categorically explained to us.”