“Till then, then?”

“Till then.”

Bonacieux kissed his wife’s hand, and set off at a quick pace.

“Well,” said Madame Bonacieux, when her husband had shut the street door and she found herself alone; “that imbecile lacked but one thing: to become a cardinalist. And I, who have answered for him to the queen⁠—I, who have promised my poor mistress⁠—ah, my God, my God! She will take me for one of those wretches with whom the palace swarms and who are placed about her as spies! Ah, M. Bonacieux, I never did love you much, but now it is worse than ever. I hate you, and on my word you shall pay for this!”

At the moment she spoke these words a rap on the ceiling made her raise her head, and a voice which reached her through the ceiling cried, “Dear Madame Bonacieux, open for me the little door on the alley, and I will come down to you.”