D'Artagnan stood at the window, careless and perfectly calm in his manner.

One could almost have sworn that he noticed nothing, and was utterly ignorant who were these two hunters after adventures, passing like shadows across the courtyard, wrapped up in their cloaks.
And yet, all the while that D'Artagnan appeared not to be looking at them at all, he did not for one moment lose sight of them, and while he whistled that old march of the musketeers, which he rarely recalled except under great emergencies, he conjectured and prophesied how terrible would be the storm which would be raised on the king's return.
In fact, when the king entered La Valliere's apartment and found the room empty and the bed untouched, he began to be alarmed, and called out to Montalais, who immediately answered the summons; but her astonishment was equal to the king's.

All that she could tell his majesty was, that she had fancied she had heard La Valliere's weeping during a portion of the night, but, knowing that his majesty had paid her a visit, she had not dared to inquire what was the matter.
"But," inquired the king, "where do you suppose she is gone ?" "Sire," replied Montalais, "Louise is of a very sentimental disposition, and as I have often seen her rise at daybreak in order to go out into the garden, she may, perhaps, be there now." This appeared probable, and the king immediately ran down the staircase in search of the fugitive.

D'Artagnan saw him grow very pale, and talking in an excited manner with his companion, as he went towards the gardens; Saint-Aignan following him, out of breath.

D'Artagnan did not stir from the window, but went on whistling, looking as if he saw nothing, yet seeing everything.