by Alexandre Dumas

“ At this word SHE, Athos, who had seated himself quietly, started up.
"SHE! What she?" asked d'Artagnan.
"Why, my companion. She who out of friendship for me wished to take me from my persecutors. She who, mistaking you for the cardinal's Guards, has just fled away."
"Your companion!" cried d'Artagnan, becoming more pale than the white veil of his mistress. "Of what companion are you speaking, dear Constance?"
"Of her whose carriage was at the gate; of a woman who calls herself your friend; of a woman to whom you have told everything."
"Her name, her name!" cried d'Artagnan. ”

“ Bonacieux, "pardon me for interrupting you; but what do you advise me to do? Good heaven! You have more experience than I have. Speak; I will listen."
"In the first place," said Milady, "it is possible I may be deceived, and that d'Artagnan and his friends may really come to your assistance."
"Oh, that would be too much!" cried Mme. Bonacieux, "so much happiness is not in store for me!"
"Then you comprehend it would be only a question of time, a sort of race, which should arrive first. If your friends are the more speedy, you are to be saved; if the satellites of the cardinal, you are lost." ”

“ Bonacieux, "where art thou? Do not leave me! You see I am dying!"
D'Artagnan released the hands of Athos which he still held clasped in both his own, and hastened to her. Her beautiful face was distorted with agony; her glassy eyes had no longer their sight; a convulsive shuddering shook her whole body; the sweat rolled from her brow.
"In the name of heaven, run, call! Aramis! Porthos! Call for help!"
"Useless!" said Athos, "useless! For the poison which SHE pours there is no antidote."
"Yes, yes! Help, help!" murmured Mme. Bonacieux; "help!" ”