The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas

Chapter 13: Monsieur Bonacieux

“You must, nevertheless, have committed a crime, since you are here and are accused of high treason.”

“Of high treason!” cried Bonacieux, terrified; “of high treason! How is it possible for a poor mercer, who detests Huguenots and who abhors Spaniards, to be accused of high treason? Consider, monsieur, the thing is absolutely impossible.”

“Monsieur Bonacieux,” said the commissary, looking at the accused as if his little eyes had the faculty of reading to the very depths of hearts, “you have a wife?”

“Yes, monsieur,” replied the mercer, in a tremble, feeling that it was at this point affairs were likely to become perplexing; “that is to say, I HAD one.”

“What, you ‘had one’? What have you done with her, then, if you have her no longer?”

“They have abducted her, monsieur.”

“They have abducted her? Ah!”

Bonacieux inferred from this “Ah” that the affair grew more and more intricate.

“They have abducted her,” added the commissary; “and do you know the man who has committed this deed?”

“I think I know him.”

“Who is he?”

“Remember that I affirm nothing, Monsieur the Commissary, and that I only suspect.”

“Whom do you suspect? Come, answer freely.”

M. Bonacieux was in the greatest perplexity possible. Had he better deny everything or tell everything? By denying all, it might be suspected that he must know too much to avow; by confessing all he might prove his good will. He decided, then, to tell all.

“I suspect,” said he, “a tall, dark man, of lofty carriage, who has the air of a great lord. He has followed us several times, as I think, when I have waited for my wife at the wicket of the Louvre to escort her home.”

The commissary now appeared to experience a little uneasiness.

“And his name?” said he.

“Oh, as to his name, I know nothing about it; but if I were ever to meet him, I should recognize him in an instant, I will answer for it, were he among a thousand persons.”

The face of the commissary grew still darker.

“You should recognize him among a thousand, say you?” continued he.

“That is to say,” cried Bonacieux, who saw he had taken a false step, “that is to say —”

“You have answered that you should recognize him,” said the commissary. “That is all very well, and enough for today; before we proceed further, someone must be informed that you know the ravisher of your wife.”

“But I have not told you that I know him!” cried Bonacieux, in despair. “I told you, on the contrary —”

“Take away the prisoner,” said the commissary to the two guards.

“Where must we place him?” demanded the chief.

“In a dungeon.”

“Which?”

“Good Lord! In the first one handy, provided it is safe,” said the commissary, with an indifference which penetrated poor Bonacieux with horror.

“Alas, alas!” said he to himself, “misfortune is over my head; my wife must have committed some frightful crime. They believe me her accomplice, and will punish me with her. She must have spoken; she must have confessed everything — a woman is so weak! A dungeon! The first he comes to! That’s it! A night is soon passed; and tomorrow to the wheel, to the gallows! Oh, my God, my God, have pity on me!”