On being left alone with Madame Bonacieux， D’Artagnan turned towards her. The poor woman had fallen back upon an armchair in a half-fainting state. D’Artagnan examined her with a rapid glance.
She was a charming woman， of twenty-five or twenty-six years of age， with dark hair， blue eyes， a slightly turned-up nose， admirable teeth， and a pink and opal complexion. There， however， the signs stopped which might have confounded her with a lady of rank. Her hands were white， but pudgy； her feet did not bespeak the woman of quality. Fortunately， D’Artagnan had not yet reached the point of minding these details.
While D’Artagnan was examining Madame Bonacieux， and was， as we have said， close to her， he saw on the ground a fine cambric handkerchief， which he naturally picked up， and on the corner of which he recognized the same cipher that he had seen on the handkerchief which had nearly caused him and Aramis to cut each other’s throats.
From that time D’Artagnan had been cautious with respect to handkerchiefs having arms on them， and he therefore， without a remark， placed the one he had just picked up in Madame Bonacieux’s pocket.
At that moment Madame Bonacieux recovered her senses. She opened her eyes， looked around her with terror， saw that the apartment was empty， and that she was alone with her liberator. She immediately held out her hands to him with a smile. Madame Bonacieux had the sweetest smile in the world.
“Ah， sir！” said she， “you have saved me. Allow me to thank you.”
“Madame，” said D’Artagnan， “I have only done what every gentleman would have done in my place. You owe me， then， no thanks.”
“Yes I do， sir， yes I do； and I hope to prove to you that you have not aided an ungrateful person. But what could these men， whom I at first took for robbers， want of me， and why is M. Bonacieux not here？”
“Madame， those men were much more dangerous than any robbers could have been， for they are the agents of the cardinal； and as to your husband， M. Bonacieux， he is not here， because he was yesterday evening taken away to the Bastille.”
“My husband in the Bastille！” cried Madame Bonacieux. “Oh， my God， what can he have done？ Poor， dear man—he is innocence itself！”
And something like a faint smile glided over the still terrified features of the young woman.
“What has he done， madame？” said D’Artagnan. “I believe that his only crime is to have at the same time the good fortune and the misfortune to be your husband.”
“But， sir， you know then—”
“I know that you have been carried off， madame. But how did you escape？”
“I took advantage of a moment when they left me alone； and as I had known since morning what to think of my abduction， with the help of my sheets I let myself down from the window； then， as I thought my husband would be at home， I hastened here.”
“To place yourself under his protection？”
“Oh no， poor， dear man！ I knew very well that he was incapable of defending me； but as he could be otherwise useful to us， I wished to inform him.”
“Of what？”
“Oh， that is not my secret； I therefore cannot tell you.”
“Besides，” said D’Artagnan—“pardon me， madame， if， guard as I am， I remind you of prudence—besides， I believe we are not here in a very proper place for imparting confidences. The men I have put to flight will return reinforced； if they find us here， we are lost. I have sent， to be sure， for three of my friends， but who knows whether they are at home？”
“Yes， yes； you are right，” cried the terrified Madame Bonacieux； “let us fly， let us escape！”
At these words she passed her arm under that of D’Artagnan， and pulled him forward eagerly.
“But whither shall we fly—where escape to？”
“Let us in the first place get away from this house； when clear of it we shall see.”
And the young woman and the young man， without taking the trouble to shut the door after them， descended the Rue des Fossoyeurs rapidly， turned into the Rue des Fossés-Monsieur-le-Prince， and did not stop till they came to the Place Saint-Sulpice.
“And now what are we to do， and where do you wish me to take you？” asked D’Artagnan.
“I am quite at a loss how to answer you， I confess，” said Madame Bonacieux. “My intention was to inform M. de la Porte， by means of my husband， in order that M. de la Porte might tell us exactly what has taken place at the Louvre in the course of the last three days， and whether there were any danger in presenting myself there.”
“But I，” said D’Artagnan， “can go and inform M. de la Porte.”
“No doubt you could； only there is one drawback in it， and this is that M. Bonacieux is known at the Louvre， and would be allowed to pass； whereas you are not known there， and the gate would be closed against you.”
“Ah， bah！” said D’Artagnan； “there is no doubt you have at some wicket of the Louvre a porter who is devoted to you， and who， thanks to a password， would—”
Madame Bonacieux looked earnestly at the young man.
“And if I give you this password，” said she， “would you forget it as soon as you had made use of it？”
“By my honour， by the faith of a gentleman！” said D’Artagnan， with an accent so truthful no one could mistake it.
“Then I believe you. You appear to be a brave young man； besides， your fortune， perhaps， will be the result of your devotion.”
“I will do， without a promise， and conscientiously， all that I can do to serve the king and be agreeable to the queen. Use me， then， as a friend.”
“But I—where shall I go in the meanwhile？”