He clapped his hands three times--the ordinary signal of lovers; but nobody replied to him, not even an echo.
He then thought, with a touch of vexation, that perhaps the young woman had fallen asleep while waiting for him.

He approached the wall, and tried to climb it; but the wall had been recently pointed, and d'Artagnan could get no hold.
At that moment he thought of the trees, upon whose leaves the light still shone; and as one of them drooped over the road, he thought that from its branches he might get a glimpse of the interior of the pavilion.
The tree was easy to climb.

Besides, d'Artagnan was but twenty years old, and consequently had not yet forgotten his schoolboy habits.

In an instant he was among the branches, and his keen eyes plunged through the transparent panes into the interior of the pavilion.
It was a strange thing, and one which made d'Artagnan tremble from the sole of his foot to the roots of his hair, to find that this soft light, this calm lamp, enlightened a scene of fearful disorder.

One of the windows was broken, the door of the chamber had been beaten in and hung, split in two, on its hinges.