“That of either our friends or our enemies,” said Milady, with her terrible coolness. “Stay where you are, I will tell you.”
Madame Bonacieux remained standing, mute, motionless, and pale as a statue.
The noise became louder; the horses could not be more than a hundred and fifty paces distant. If they were not yet to be seen, it was because the road made an elbow. The noise became so distinct that the horses might be counted by the rattle of their hoofs.
Milady gazed with all the power of her attention; it was just light enough for her to see who was coming.
All at once, at the turning of the road she saw the glitter of laced hats and the waving of feathers; she counted two, then five, then eight horsemen. One of them preceded the rest by double the length of his horse.
Milady uttered a stifled groan. In the first horseman she recognized d’Artagnan.
“Oh, my God, my God,” cried Madame Bonacieux, “what is it?”
“It is the uniform of the cardinal’s Guards. Not an instant to be lost! Fly, fly!”
“Yes, yes, let us fly!” repeated Madame Bonacieux, but without being able to make a step, glued as she was to the spot by terror.
They heard the horsemen pass under the windows.
“Come, then, come, then!” cried Milady, trying to drag the young woman along by the arm. “Thanks to the garden, we yet can flee; I have the key, but make haste! in five minutes it will be too late!”