“Yes, that’s it, no doubt!” said Milady, returning the letter to Madame Bonacieux, and letting her head sink pensively upon her bosom.
At that moment they heard the gallop of a horse.
“Oh!” cried Madame Bonacieux, darting to the window, “can it be he?”
Milady remained still in bed, petrified by surprise; so many unexpected things happened to her all at once that for the first time she was at a loss.
“He, he!” murmured she; “can it be he?” And she remained in bed with her eyes fixed.
“Alas, no!” said Madame Bonacieux; “it is a man I don’t know, although he seems to be coming here. Yes, he checks his pace; he stops at the gate; he rings.”
Milady sprang out of bed.
“You are sure it is not he?” said she.
“Yes, yes, very sure!”
“Perhaps you did not see well.”
“Oh, if I were to see the plume of his hat, the end of his cloak, I should know him !”
Milady was dressing herself all the time.
“Yes, he has entered.”
“It is for you or me!”
“My God, how agitated you seem!”