A silence of death reigned in the cabin as in the pavilion; but as the cabin was his last resource, he knocked again.
It soon appeared to him that he heard a slight noise within--a timid noise which seemed to tremble lest it should be heard.
Then d'Artagnan ceased knocking, and prayed with an accent so full of anxiety and promises, terror and cajolery, that his voice was of a nature to reassure the most fearful.

At length an old, worm-eaten shutter was opened, or rather pushed ajar, but closed again as soon as the light from a miserable lamp which burned in the corner had shone upon the baldric, sword belt, and pistol pommels of d'Artagnan.
Nevertheless, rapid as the movement had been, d'Artagnan had had time to get a glimpse of the head of an old man.
"In the name of heaven!" cried he, "listen to me; I have been waiting for someone who has not come.

I am dying with anxiety.

Has anything particular happened in the neighborhood?
Speak!" The window was again opened slowly, and the same face appeared, only it was now still more pale than before.
D'Artagnan related his story simply, with the omission of names.

He told how he had a rendezvous with a young woman before that pavilion, and how, not seeing her come, he had climbed the linden tree, and by the light of the lamp had seen the disorder of the chamber.
The old man listened attentively, making a sign only that it was all so; and then, when d'Artagnan had ended, he shook his head with an air that announced nothing good.
"What do you mean ?" cried d'Artagnan.