“Yes, I admit it. I have not your confidence; I fear the cardinal.”
“Hush!” said Madame Bonacieux; “somebody is coming.”
Immediately the door opened, and the superior entered.
“Did you come from Boulogne?” demanded she of Milady.
“Yes,” replied she, trying to recover her self-possession. “Who wants me?”
“A man who will not tell his name, but who comes from the cardinal.”
“And who wishes to speak with me?”
“Who wishes to speak to a lady recently come from Boulogne.”
“Then let him come in, if you please.”
“Oh, my God, my God!” cried Madame Bonacieux. “Can it be bad news?”
“I fear it.”
“I will leave you with this stranger; but as soon as he is gone, if you will permit me, I will return.”
“ Permit you? I beseech you.”
The superior and Madame Bonacieux retired.
Milady remained alone, with her eyes fixed upon the door. An instant later, the jingling of spurs was heard upon the stairs, steps drew near, the door opened, and a man appeared.
Milady uttered a cry of joy; this man was the Comte de Rochefort—the demoniacal tool of his Eminence.