“Ah,” cried d’Artagnan, really carried away by the passion this woman had the power to kindle in his heart, “ah, that is because my happiness appears so impossible to me; and I have such fear that it should fly away from me like a dream that I pant to make a reality of it.”
“Well, merit this pretended happiness, then!”
“I am at your orders,” said d’Artagnan.
“Quite certain?” said Milady, with a last doubt.
“Only name to me the base man that has brought tears into your beautiful eyes!”
“Who told you that I had been weeping?” said she.
“It appeared to me—”
“Such women as I never weep,” said Milady.
“So much the better! Come, tell me his name!”
“Remember that his name is all my secret.”
“Yet I must know his name.”
“Yes, you must; see what confidence I have in you!”
“You overwhelm me with joy. What is his name?”
“You know him.”
“Indeed.”
“Yes.”
“It is surely not one of my friends?” replied d’Artagnan, affecting hesitation in order to make her believe him ignorant.