“The good George!” said she, closing the window with an expression of countenance full of affection and melancholy. And she resumed her seat, as if plunged in reflections entirely personal.
“Dear lady,” said Madame Bonacieux, “pardon me for interrupting you; but what do you advise me to do? Good heaven! You have more experience than I have. Speak; I will listen.”
“In the first place,” said Milady, “it is possible I may be deceived, and that d’Artagnan and his friends may really come to your assistance.”
“Oh, that would be too much!” cried Madame Bonacieux, “so much happiness is not in store for me!”
“Then you comprehend it would be only a question of time, a sort of race, which should arrive first. If your friends are the more speedy, you are to be saved; if the satellites of the cardinal, you are lost.”
“Oh, yes, yes; lost beyond redemption! What, then, to do? What to do?”
“There would be a very simple means, very natural—”
“Tell me what!”
“To wait, concealed in the neighborhood, and assure yourself who are the men who come to ask for you.”
“But where can I wait?”
“Oh, there is no difficulty in that. I shall stop and conceal myself a few leagues hence until my brother can rejoin me. Well, I take you with me; we conceal ourselves, and wait together.”
“But I shall not be allowed to go; I am almost a prisoner.”