Part 34

D'Artagnan cast a curious glance at Milady: she was pale and had tired eyes, whether from tears or from sleeplessness. The usual number of lights had been intentionally reduced, and yet the young woman could not manage to hide the traces of the fever that had consumed her for the past two days.

D'Artagnan approached her with his customary gallantry; she made a supreme effort to receive him, but never did a more disturbed countenance belie a more pleasant smile.

To the questions d'Artagnan asked her about her health: "Bad," she replied, "very bad." "But then," said d'Artagnan, "I am indiscreet; you no doubt need rest, and I shall withdraw." "Not at all," said Milady; "on the contrary, stay, Monsieur d'Artagnan; your pleasant company will distract me."

"Oh! oh!" thought d'Artagnan, "she has never been so charming; let us be on our guard."

Milady assumed the most affectionate air she could muster and gave her conversation all possible brilliance. At the same time, this fever that had left her for a moment returned, lending brilliance to her eyes, color to her cheeks, and carmine to her lips. D'Artagnan found again the Circe who had once enveloped him in her enchantments. His love, which he had believed extinct and which was merely dormant, awoke in his heart. Milady smiled, and d'Artagnan felt he would damn himself for that smile.

There was a moment when he felt something like remorse for what he had done against her.

Little by little, Milady became more communicative. She asked d'Artagnan if he had a mistress. "Alas!" said d'Artagnan with the most sentimental air he could assume, "can you be cruel enough to ask me such a question, I who, since I saw you, breathe and sigh only through you and for you?" Milady smiled a strange smile. "So you love me?" she said. "Need I tell you, and have you not noticed?" "Indeed I have; but, you know, the prouder the hearts, the harder they are to win." "Oh! difficulties do not frighten me," said d'Artagnan; "only impossibilities terrify me." "Nothing is impossible," said Milady, "to a true love." "Nothing, madame?" "Nothing," replied Milady.

"Devil!" thought d'Artagnan to himself, "the tune has changed. Could she by chance be falling in love with me, the capricious one, and would she be disposed to give me some other sapphire like the one she gave me when she took me for de Wardes?"

D'Artagnan quickly moved his seat closer to Milady's. "Come now," she said, "what would you do to prove this love you speak of?" "Anything one would ask of me. Command, and I am ready." "Anything?" "Anything!" cried d'Artagnan, who knew in advance that he had little to risk by so committing himself. "Well then, let us talk a little," said Milady in turn, drawing her armchair closer to d'Artagnan's chair. "I am listening, madame," said he.

Milady remained thoughtful for a moment and as if undecided, then seeming to come to a resolution: "I have an enemy," she said. "You, madame!" cried d'Artagnan, feigning surprise, "is it possible, my God? beautiful and good as you are!" "A mortal enemy." "Indeed?" "An enemy who has insulted me so cruelly that it is a war to the death between him and me. Can I count on you as an ally?"

D'Artagnan understood at once where the vindictive creature was heading. "You can, madame," he said emphatically, "my arm and my life belong to you as does my love." "Then," said Milady, "since you are as generous as you are loving..." She paused. "Well?" asked d'Artagnan. "Well," resumed Milady after a moment of silence, "cease from today to speak of impossibilities." "Do not overwhelm me with my happiness!" cried d'Artagnan, throwing himself to his knees and covering with kisses the hands she abandoned to him. "Avenge me of that infamous de Wardes," murmured Milady between her teeth, "and I shall know well how to get rid of you afterwards, double fool, living sword blade!" "Fall willingly into my arms after having mocked me so brazenly, hypocritical and dangerous woman," thought d'Artagnan on his side, "and then I will laugh at you with the one you want me to kill by my hand."

D'Artagnan raised his head. "I am ready," he said. "So you have understood me, dear Monsieur d'Artagnan!" said Milady. "I would guess one of your glances." "Thus you would employ for me your arm, which has already won so much renown?" "Instantly." "But I," said Milady, "how shall I pay for such a service? I know lovers; they are people who do nothing for nothing." "You know the only reply I desire," said d'Artagnan, "the only one worthy of you and me!" And he gently drew her toward him. She scarcely resisted. "Interested!" she said, smiling. "Ah!" cried d'Artagnan, truly carried away by the passion this woman had the gift of kindling in his heart, "ah! it is that my happiness seems unbelievable to me, and always fearing to see it fly away like a dream, I am eager to make it a reality." "Well then, deserve this so-called happiness." "I am at your orders," said d'Artagnan. "Quite sure?" asked Milady with a final doubt. "Name to me the villain who could make your beautiful eyes weep." "Who told you I wept?" she said. "It seemed to me..." "Women like me do not weep," said Milady. "So much the better! Come, tell me his name." "Remember that his name is my entire secret." "Yet I must know his name." "Yes, you must; see if I trust you!" "You fill me with joy. What is his name?" "You know him." "Really?" "Yes." "Is he not one of my friends?" resumed d'Artagnan, feigning hesitation to make her believe in his ignorance. "If he were one of your friends, would you hesitate then?" cried Milady. And a flash of menace passed through her eyes. "No, were it my brother!" cried d'Artagnan, as if carried away by enthusiasm.

Our Gascon was advancing without risk; for he knew where he was going. "I love your devotion," said Milady. "Alas! do you love only that in me?" asked d'Artagnan. "I also love you," she said, taking his hand. And the ardent pressure made d'Artagnan shudder, as if, through touch, this fever that burned Milady were passing into him. "You love me!" he cried. "Oh! if that were so, it would be enough to drive one mad." And he wrapped her in his arms. She did not try to remove her lips from his kiss; only she did not return it.

Her lips were cold: it seemed to d'Artagnan that he had just kissed a statue.

Nevertheless, he was drunk with joy, electrified with love; he almost believed in Milady's tenderness; he almost believed in de Wardes's crime. If de Wardes had been within his reach at that moment, he would have killed him.

Milady seized the opportunity. "His name is..." she said in turn. "De Wardes, I know," cried d'Artagnan. "And how do you know that?" asked Milady, seizing both his hands and trying to read through his eyes to the bottom of his soul.

D'Artagnan felt he had let himself be carried away and had made a mistake. "Speak, speak, but speak!" repeated Milady, "how do you know that?" "How do I know?" said d'Artagnan. "Yes." "I know because yesterday de Wardes, in a drawing-room where I was, showed a ring which he said he had from you." "The wretch!" cried Milady.

The epithet, as may well be understood, echoed to the bottom of d'Artagnan's heart. "Well?" she continued. "Well, I shall avenge you of that wretch," resumed d'Artagnan, giving himself the airs of Don Japhet of Armenia. "Thank you, my brave friend!" cried Milady; "and when shall I be avenged?" "Tomorrow, immediately, whenever you wish." Milady was about to cry "Immediately," but she reflected that such haste would be ungracious toward d'Artagnan.

Moreover, she had a thousand precautions to take, a thousand pieces of advice to give her defender, so that he might avoid explanations before witnesses with the count. All this was anticipated by a word from d'Artagnan. "Tomorrow," he said, "you shall be avenged, or I shall be dead." "No!" she said, "you shall avenge me; but you shall not die. He is a coward." "With women, perhaps, but not with men. I know something of that myself." "But it seems to me that in your struggle with him you had no cause to complain of fortune." "Fortune is a courtesan: favorable yesterday, she may betray me tomorrow." "Which means that you hesitate now." "No, I do not hesitate, God forbid; but would it be just to let me go to a possible death without having given me at least a little more than hope?"

Milady replied with a glance that meant: "Is that all? speak then." Then accompanying the glance with explanatory words. "That is only fair," she said tenderly. "Oh! you are an angel," said the young man. "So, all is agreed?" she said. "Except what I ask of you, dear soul!" "But when I tell you that you may trust my tenderness?" "I have no tomorrow to wait for." "Silence; I hear my brother: it is useless for him to find you here."

She rang; Ketty appeared. "Go out through this door," she said, pushing a small hidden door, "and come back at eleven o'clock; we shall finish this conversation: Ketty will show you into my room."

The poor girl nearly fainted upon hearing these words. "Well, what are you doing, mademoiselle, standing motionless like a statue? Come, show the Chevalier out; and this evening at eleven o'clock, do you hear?" "It seems her rendezvous are at eleven o'clock," thought d'Artagnan; "it's a habit she has taken."

Milady held out a hand which he kissed tenderly. "Come now," he said as he withdrew, scarcely answering Ketty's reproaches, "come now, let's not be a fool; decidedly this woman is a great villain: let's take care."

CHAPTER XXXVII. MILADY'S SECRET

D'Artagnan had left the house instead of going straight up to Ketty's room, despite the entreaties the young girl had made him, and that for two reasons: first, because in this way he avoided reproaches, recriminations, prayers; second, because he was not sorry to read a little into his own thoughts, and, if possible, into those of this woman.

The clearest thing in all this was that d'Artagnan loved Milady like a madman and that she did not love him in the least. For a moment d'Artagnan understood that the best thing he could do would be to go home and write Milady a long letter in which he would confess that he and de Wardes had hitherto been absolutely the same, and that consequently he could not, on pain of suicide, engage to kill de Wardes. But he too was spurred by a fierce desire for revenge; he wanted in his turn to possess this woman under his own name; and as this revenge seemed to him to have a certain sweetness, he did not wish to renounce it.

He walked five or six times around the Place Royale, turning every ten paces to look at the light in Milady's apartment, which could be seen through the blinds; it was evident that this time the young woman was less eager than the first to return to her chamber.

At last the light disappeared.

With that glow, the last irresolution in d'Artagnan's heart was extinguished; he remembered the details of the first night, and, with a leaping heart and a fevered head, he re-entered the house and rushed into Ketty's room.

The young girl, pale as death, trembling in every limb, tried to stop her lover; but Milady, with a listening ear, had heard the noise d'Artagnan made: she opened the door. "Come," she said.

All this was so incredibly imprudent, so monstrously brazen, that d'Artagnan could scarcely believe what he saw and heard. He thought he was being swept into some fantastic intrigue such as one accomplishes in a dream.

Nevertheless, he rushed toward Milady, yielding to that attraction that a magnet exerts on iron. The door closed behind them.

Ketty in turn threw herself against the door.

Jealousy, fury, wounded pride, all the passions in short that contend for the heart of a woman in love drove her to a revelation; but she was lost if she confessed to having lent a hand to such a machination; and above all, d'Artagnan was lost to her. This last thought of love still counseled her this final sacrifice.

D'Artagnan, on his side, had reached the height of all his wishes: it was no longer a rival that was loved in him; it was himself that seemed to be loved. A secret voice indeed told him in the depths of his heart that he was only an instrument of vengeance that was being caressed until it should deal death; but pride, but self-love, but madness silenced that voice, stifled that murmur. Then our Gascon, with the dose of confidence we know him to have, compared himself to de Wardes and asked himself why, after all, one should not love him, too, for himself.

He therefore abandoned himself entirely to the sensations of the moment. Milady was no longer for him that woman of fatal intentions who had once terrified him; she was an ardent and passionate mistress, giving herself entirely to a love that she herself seemed to feel. About two hours passed thus.

However, the transports of the two lovers calmed down; Milady, who did not have the same motives as d'Artagnan for forgetting, was the first to return to reality and asked the young man whether the measures that should bring about a meeting between him and de Wardes the next day were well settled in his mind.

But d'Artagnan, whose ideas had taken quite a different turn, forgot himself like a fool and replied gallantly that it was too late to concern oneself with sword duels.

This coldness toward the only interests that occupied her frightened Milady, whose questions became more pressing.

Then d'Artagnan, who had never seriously thought of this impossible duel, tried to divert the conversation, but he was no match for her.

Milady kept him within the limits she had traced in advance with her irresistible mind and her iron will.

D'Artagnan thought himself very witty in advising Milady to renounce, by forgiving de Wardes, the furious projects she had formed.

But at the first words he spoke, the young woman shuddered and drew back. "Are you afraid, dear d'Artagnan?" she said in a sharp and mocking voice that rang strangely in the darkness. "You do not think so, dear soul!" replied d'Artagnan; "but after all, if this poor Count de Wardes were less guilty than you think?" "In any case," said Milady gravely, "he has deceived me, and from the moment he deceived me he deserved death." "He shall die, then, since you condemn him!" said d'Artagnan in so firm a tone that it seemed to Milady the expression of a devotion proof against anything.

Immediately she drew closer to him.

We could not say how long the night lasted for Milady; but d'Artagnan thought he had been near her barely two hours when daylight appeared through the slats of the blinds and soon invaded the room with its wan glow.

Then Milady, seeing that d'Artagnan was about to leave her, reminded him of the promise he had made her to avenge her of de Wardes. "I am quite ready," said d'Artagnan, "but first I would like to be certain of one thing." "Which one?" asked Milady. "That you love me." "I have given you proof of that, it seems to me." "Yes, and so I am yours, body and soul." "Thank you, my brave lover! But just as I have proven my love to you, you will prove yours to me in turn, will you not?" "Certainly. But if you love me as you say," resumed d'Artagnan, "do you not fear a little for me?" "What could I fear?" "Why, that I might be dangerously wounded, even killed." "Impossible," said Milady, "you are such a valiant man and such a fine swordsman." "Would you not then prefer," resumed d'Artagnan, "a means that would avenge you just the same while rendering the combat unnecessary?"

Milady looked at her lover in silence; this wan glow of the first rays of daylight gave her clear eyes a strangely fatal expression. "Truly," she said, "I believe you are now hesitating." "No, I am not hesitating; but it is that this poor Count de Wardes really makes me feel sorry since you no longer love him, and it seems to me that a man must be so cruelly punished by the mere loss of your love that he needs no other punishment." "Who told you that I loved him?" asked Milady. "At least I may now believe, without too much conceit, that you love another," said the young man in a caressing tone, "and I repeat, I take an interest in the count." "You?" asked Milady. "Yes, I." "And why?" "Because I alone know..." "What?" "That he is far from being, or rather from having been, as guilty toward you as he appears." "Indeed!" said Milady with an uneasy air; "explain yourself, for I truly do not know what you mean." And she looked at d'Artagnan, who held her embraced, with eyes that seemed gradually to ignite. "Yes, I am a man of honor!" said d'Artagnan, resolved to finish it; "and since your love is mine, since I am quite sure of possessing it, for I do possess it, do I not?..." "Entirely; continue." "Well, I feel as if transported; a confession weighs upon me." "A confession?" "If I had doubted your love, I would not have made it; but you love me, my beautiful mistress? do you not, you love me?" "Without doubt." "Then if through excess of love I have become guilty toward you, you will forgive me?" "Perhaps!" D'Artagnan tried, with the sweetest smile he could muster, to bring his lips close to Milady's lips, but she pushed him away. "This confession," she said, growing pale, "what is this confession?" "You had made an appointment with de Wardes last Thursday, in this same room, had you not?" "I? no! that is not true," said Milady in so firm a voice and with so impassive a face that if d'Artagnan had not had such perfect certainty, he would have doubted. "Do not lie, my beautiful angel," said d'Artagnan, smiling, "it would be useless." "What do you mean? Speak! you are killing me!" "Oh! reassure yourself, you are not guilty toward me, and I have already forgiven you!" "After, after?" "De Wardes can boast of nothing." "Why? You yourself told me that this ring..." "This ring, my love, I have it. The Count de Wardes of Thursday and the d'Artagnan of today are the same person."

The rash man expected a surprise mingled with modesty, a little storm that would dissolve into tears; but he was strangely mistaken, and his error was not long in coming.

Pale and terrible, Milady straightened up, and, pushing d'Artagnan away with a violent blow to the chest, she leaped out of bed.

It was now almost broad daylight.

D'Artagnan held her back by her fine Indian cotton nightgown to beg her forgiveness; but she, with a powerful and resolute movement, tried to flee. Then the batiste tore, leaving her shoulders bare, and on one of those beautiful round white shoulders, d'Artagnan, with indescribable shock, recognized the fleur-de-lis, that indelible mark imprinted by the infamous hand of the executioner.

"Great God!" cried d'Artagnan, releasing the nightgown.

And he remained mute, motionless, and frozen on the bed.

But Milady felt herself betrayed by d'Artagnan's very terror. Doubtless he had seen everything: the young man now knew her secret, a terrible secret that everyone was ignorant of except him.

She turned around, no longer like a furious woman but like a wounded panther. "Ah! wretch," she said, "you have cowardly betrayed me, and moreover you have my secret! You shall die!" And she ran to a marquetry casket placed on the dressing table, opened it with a feverish and trembling hand, drew out a small dagger with a gold handle and a sharp, thin blade, and bounded back onto d'Artagnan, who was half naked.

Although the young man was brave, as we know, he was terrified by this distorted face, these horribly dilated pupils, these pale cheeks, and these bloodied lips; he recoiled to the side of the bed, as he would have done at the approach of a serpent crawling toward him, and his sword meeting his hand, wet with sweat, he drew it from its scabbard.

But without heeding the sword, Milady tried to climb back onto the bed to strike him, and she only stopped when she felt the sharp point on her throat.

Then she tried to seize the sword with her hands, but d'Artagnan kept it always away from her grasp and, presenting it to her now at the eyes, now at the chest, he slid down from the bed, seeking for retreat the door that led to Ketty's room.

Milady, meanwhile, hurled herself at him with horrible transports, roaring in a formidable manner.

However, this resembled a duel, so d'Artagnan gradually recovered. "Good, beautiful lady, good!" he said, "but, by God, calm yourself, or I will draw a second fleur-de-lis on your other shoulder." "Infamous! infamous!" howled Milady.

But d'Artagnan, still seeking the door, kept on the defensive.

At the noise they made—she overturning the furniture to get at him, he sheltering behind the furniture to protect himself from her—Ketty opened the door. D'Artagnan, who had constantly maneuvered to get close to this door, was now only three steps from it. With a single bound he leaped from Milady's room into the maid's, and, swift as lightning, he closed the door, against which he leaned with all his weight while Ketty threw the bolts.

Then Milady tried to break down the barricade that shut her in her room, with strength far beyond that of a woman; then, when she felt it was impossible, she riddled the door with dagger blows, some of which pierced the thickness of the wood.

Each blow was accompanied by a terrible imprecation. "Quick, quick, Ketty," said d'Artagnan in a low voice once the bolts were shot, "get me out of the house, or if we leave her time to recover, she will have me killed by the servants." "But you cannot go out like this," said Ketty, "you are stark naked." "That's true," said d'Artagnan, who then only noticed the state he was in, "that's true; dress me as best you can, but let us hurry; do you understand, it's a matter of life and death!"

Ketty understood only too well; in a trice she outfitted him in a flowered dress, a large cap, and a short cloak; she gave him slippers, into which he put his bare feet, then she dragged him down the stairs. It was time; Milady had already rung and woken up the whole house. The porter pulled the cord at Ketty's voice at the very moment Milady, half naked herself, cried from the window: "Do not open!"

CHAPTER XXXVIII. HOW, WITHOUT STIRRING, ATHOS FOUND HIS EQUIPMENT

The young man fled while she still threatened him with a powerless gesture. At the moment she lost sight of him, Milady fell fainting in her room.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”