de Treville listened to the young man's account with a seriousness
which proved that he saw something else in this adventure besides a love
affair. When d'Artagnan had finished, he said, "Hum! All this savors of
his Eminence, a league off."

"But what is to be done?" said d'Artagnan.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing, at present, but quitting Paris, as I told
you, as soon as possible. I will see the queen; I will relate to her
the details of the disappearance of this poor woman, of which she is no
doubt ignorant. These details will guide her on her part, and on your
return, I shall perhaps have some good news to tell you. Rely on me."

D'Artagnan knew that, although a Gascon, M. de Treville was not in the
habit of making promises, and that when by chance he did promise, he
more than kept his word. He bowed to him, then, full of gratitude for
the past and for the future; and the worthy captain, who on his side
felt a lively interest in this young man, so brave and so resolute,
pressed his hand kindly, wishing him a pleasant journey.

Determined to put the advice of M. de Treville in practice instantly,
d'Artagnan directed his course toward the Rue des Fossoyeurs, in order
to superintend the packing of his valise. On approaching the house, he
perceived M. Bonacieux in morning costume, standing at his threshold.
All that the prudent Planchet had said to him the preceding evening
about the sinister character of the old man recurred to the mind of
d'Artagnan, who looked at him with more attention than he had done
before. In fact, in addition to that yellow, sickly paleness which
indicates the insinuation of the bile in the blood, and which might,
besides, be accidental, d'Artagnan remarked something perfidiously
significant in the play of the wrinkled features of his countenance.
A rogue does not laugh in the same way that an honest man does; a
hypocrite does not shed the tears of a man of good faith. All falsehood
is a mask; and however well made the mask may be, with a little
attention we may always succeed in distinguishing it from the true face.

It appeared, then, to d'Artagnan that M. Bonacieux wore a mask,
and likewise that that mask was most disagreeable to look upon. In
consequence of this feeling of repugnance, he was about to pass without
speaking to him, but, as he had done the day before, M. Bonacieux
accosted him.

"Well, young man," said he, "we appear to pass rather gay nights! Seven
o'clock in the morning