“As you please, Madame Bonacieux,” said the mercer. “Shall I have the pleasure of seeing you soon again?”

“Yes; next week I hope my duties will afford me a little liberty, and I will take advantage of it to come and set things to rights here, as they must be somewhat upset.”

“Very well; I shall expect you. You are not angry with me?”

“Who?—I? Oh, not the least in the world.”

“Farewell till then.”

“Till then.”

Bonacieux kissed his wife’s hand and set off at a quick pace.

“Well,” said Madame Bonacieux, when her husband had shut the street door and she found herself alone, “the only thing still lacking that fool was 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 who swarm the palace, and 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 by 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 the little side door for me, and I will come down to you.”