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- Александр Дюма
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- Стр. 299/849
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"
Monsieur
,
I
have
eaten
and
drunk
respectfully
the
crown
you
gave
me
this
morning
,
so
that
I
have
not
a
sou
left
in
case
I
should
be
cold
.
"
"
Here
's
half
a
pistole
.
Tomorrow
morning
.
"
D'Artagnan
sprang
from
his
horse
,
threw
the
bridle
to
Planchet
,
and
departed
at
a
quick
pace
,
folding
his
cloak
around
him
.
"
Good
Lord
,
how
cold
I
am
!
"
cried
Planchet
,
as
soon
as
he
had
lost
sight
of
his
master
;
and
in
such
haste
was
he
to
warm
himself
that
he
went
straight
to
a
house
set
out
with
all
the
attributes
of
a
suburban
tavern
,
and
knocked
at
the
door
.
In
the
meantime
d'Artagnan
,
who
had
plunged
into
a
bypath
,
continued
his
route
and
reached
St.
Cloud
;
but
instead
of
following
the
main
street
he
turned
behind
the
chateau
,
reached
a
sort
of
retired
lane
,
and
found
himself
soon
in
front
of
the
pavilion
named
.
It
was
situated
in
a
very
private
spot
.
A
high
wall
,
at
the
angle
of
which
was
the
pavilion
,
ran
along
one
side
of
this
lane
,
and
on
the
other
was
a
little
garden
connected
with
a
poor
cottage
which
was
protected
by
a
hedge
from
passers-by
.
He
gained
the
place
appointed
,
and
as
no
signal
had
been
given
him
by
which
to
announce
his
presence
,
he
waited
.
Not
the
least
noise
was
to
be
heard
;
it
might
be
imagined
that
he
was
a
hundred
miles
from
the
capital
.
D'Artagnan
leaned
against
the
hedge
,
after
having
cast
a
glance
behind
it
.
Beyond
that
hedge
,
that
garden
,
and
that
cottage
,
a
dark
mist
enveloped
with
its
folds
that
immensity
where
Paris
slept
--
a
vast
void
from
which
glittered
a
few
luminous
points
,
the
funeral
stars
of
that
hell
!
But
for
d'Artagnan
all
aspects
were
clothed
happily
,
all
ideas
wore
a
smile
,
all
shades
were
diaphanous
.
The
appointed
hour
was
about
to
strike
.
In
fact
,
at
the
end
of
a
few
minutes
the
belfry
of
St.
Cloud
let
fall
slowly
ten
strokes
from
its
sonorous
jaws
.
There
was
something
melancholy
in
this
brazen
voice
pouring
out
its
lamentations
in
the
middle
of
the
night
;
but
each
of
those
strokes
,
which
made
up
the
expected
hour
,
vibrated
harmoniously
to
the
heart
of
the
young
man
.
His
eyes
were
fixed
upon
the
little
pavilion
situated
at
the
angle
of
the
wall
,
of
which
all
the
windows
were
closed
with
shutters
,
except
one
on
the
first
story
.
Through
this
window
shone
a
mild
light
which
silvered
the
foliage
of
two
or
three
linden
trees
which
formed
a
group
outside
the
park
.
There
could
be
no
doubt
that
behind
this
little
window
,
which
threw
forth
such
friendly
beams
,
the
pretty
Mme.
Bonacieux
expected
him
.
