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In which the Plot Thickens

           Theunfortunatewomanwasexhausted,notbyfatigue,butbyterror,andwhend’Artagnanplacedhishanduponhershoulder,shesankupononeknee,cryinginachokingvoice,"Killme,ifyouplease,youshallknownothing!"

           D’Artagnanraisedherbypassinghisarmroundherwaist;butashefeltbyherweightshewasonthepointoffainting,hemadehastetoreassureherbyprotestationsofdevotedness.TheseprotestationswerenothingforMme.Bonacieux,forsuchprotestationsmaybemadewiththeworstintentionsintheworld;butthevoicewasall.Mme.Bonacieuxthoughtsherecognizedthesoundofthatvoice;shereopenedhereyes,castaquickglanceuponthemanwhohadterrifiedherso,andatonceperceivingitwasd’Artagnan,sheutteredacryofjoy,"Oh,itisyou,itisyou!ThankGod,thankGod!"

           "Yes,itisI,"saidd’Artagnan,"itisI,whomGodhassenttowatchoveryou."

           "Wasitwiththatintentionyoufollowedme?"askedtheyoungwoman,withacoquettishsmile,whosesomewhatbanteringcharacterresumeditsinfluence,andwithwhomallfearhaddisappearedfromthemomentinwhichsherecognizedafriendinoneshehadtakenforanenemy.

           "No,"saidd’Artagnan;"no,Iconfessit.Itwaschancethatthrewmeinyourway;Isawawomanknockingatthewindowofoneofmyfriends."

           "Oneofyourfriends?"interruptedMme.Bonacieux.

           "Withoutdoubt;Aramisisoneofmybestfriends."

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