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- Александр Дюма
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- Стр. 216/849
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"
As
you
please
,
Madame
Bonacieux
,
"
said
the
ex-mercer
.
"
Shall
I
see
you
again
soon
?
"
"
Next
week
I
hope
my
duties
will
afford
me
a
little
liberty
,
and
I
will
take
advantage
of
it
to
come
and
put
things
in
order
here
,
as
they
must
necessarily
be
much
deranged
.
"
"
Very
well
;
I
shall
expect
you
.
You
are
not
angry
with
me
?
"
"
Not
the
least
in
the
world
.
"
"
Till
then
,
then
?
"
"
Till
then
.
"
Bonacieux
kissed
his
wife
's
hand
,
and
set
off
at
a
quick
pace
.
"
Well
,
"
said
Mme
Bonacieux
,
when
her
husband
had
shut
the
street
door
and
she
found
herself
alone
;
"
that
imbecile
lacked
but
one
thing
to
become
a
cardinalist
.
And
I
,
who
have
answered
for
him
to
the
queen
--
I
,
who
have
promised
my
poor
mistress
--
ah
,
my
God
,
my
God
!
She
will
take
me
for
one
of
those
wretches
with
whom
the
palace
swarms
and
who
are
placed
about
her
as
spies
!
Ah
,
Monsieur
Bonacieux
,
I
never
did
love
you
much
,
but
now
it
is
worse
than
ever
.
I
hate
you
,
and
on
my
word
you
shall
pay
for
this
!
"
At
the
moment
she
spoke
these
words
a
rap
on
the
ceiling
made
her
raise
her
head
,
and
a
voice
which
reached
her
through
the
ceiling
cried
,
"
Dear
Madame
Bonacieux
,
open
for
me
the
little
door
on
the
alley
,
and
I
will
come
down
to
you
.
"
