Part 53

"I am very ignorant of all these matters," said the abbess at last, "but however far we may be from court, however much outside the worldly interests where we are placed, we have very sad examples of what you tell us; and one of our boarders has suffered greatly from the vengeances and persecutions of M. le Cardinal."

"One of your boarders," said Milady; "oh! my God! poor woman, I pity her then."

"And you are right, for she is much to be pitied: prison, threats, ill-treatment, she has suffered everything. But after all," resumed the abbess, "M. le Cardinal may have had plausible motives for acting thus, and although she has the face of an angel, we must not always judge people by appearances."

"Good!" said Milady to herself, "who knows! I am perhaps going to discover something here; I am in luck."

And she applied herself to giving her face an expression of perfect candor.

"Alas!" said Milady, "I know it; they say we must not trust to physiognomies; but yet, what shall we trust to if not to the most beautiful work of the Lord? As for me, I may be deceived all my life perhaps; but I shall always trust a person whose face inspires me with sympathy."

"You would then be tempted to believe," said the abbess, "that that young woman is innocent?"

"M. le Cardinal does not punish only crimes," she said; "there are certain virtues which he pursues more severely than certain misdeeds."

"Allow me, madame, to express my surprise," said the abbess.

"At what?" asked Milady with naivete.

"At the language you hold."

"What do you find astonishing in that language?" asked Milady, smiling.

"You are the cardinal's friend, since he sends you here, and yet—"

"And yet I speak ill of him," replied Milady, finishing the superior's thought.

"At least you do not speak well of him."

"That is because I am not his friend," she said with a sigh, "but his victim."

"But yet this letter by which he recommends you to me?—"

"Is an order for me to keep myself in a kind of prison from which he will have me drawn by some of his satellites."

"But why have you not fled?"

"Where should I go? Do you think there is a spot on earth the cardinal cannot reach if he takes the trouble to stretch out his hand? If I were a man, that might possibly be done; but a woman, what can a woman do? Has that young boarder you have here tried to fly?"

"No, it is true; but she, it is another thing; I believe she is kept in France by some love."

"Then," said Milady with a sigh, "if she loves, she is not altogether unhappy."

"So," said the abbess, looking at Milady with increasing interest, "it is another poor persecuted creature I see?"

"Alas, yes," said Milady.

The abbess looked at Milady for an instant with anxiety, as if a new thought had sprung up in her mind.

"You are not an enemy of our holy faith?" she said, hesitating.

"I!" cried Milady, "I a Protestant! Oh, no! I call the God who hears us to witness that I am, on the contrary, a fervent Catholic."

"Then, madame," said the abbess, smiling, "make yourself easy; the house you are in will not be a very hard prison, and we will do all that is necessary to make you love captivity. Nay, more, you will find here that young woman, persecuted, no doubt, in consequence of some court intrigue. She is amiable, gracious."

"What do you call her?"

"She was recommended to me by a very highly placed person under the name of Ketty. I have not tried to learn her other name."

"Ketty!" cried Milady; "what! are you sure?—"

"That she calls herself so? Yes, madame; do you know her?"

Milady smiled to herself and at the idea which had come to her that this young woman might be her former chambermaid. There mingled with the recollection of that young girl a recollection of anger, and a desire for vengeance had disturbed the features of Milady, which, however, soon resumed the calm and benevolent expression which that woman of a hundred faces had momentarily lost.

"And when can I see this young lady, for whom I already feel so great a sympathy?" asked Milady.

"This evening," said the abbess, "this very day. But you have been traveling for four days, you told me yourself; you rose this morning at five o'clock; you must need rest. Go to bed and sleep; at dinner time we will wake you."

Although Milady could very well have done without sleep, sustained as she was by all the excitements which a new adventure caused to her heart, greedy of intrigues, she nevertheless accepted the superior's offer; for the past twelve or fifteen days she had gone through so many diverse emotions that, although her iron frame could still support fatigue, her soul needed rest.

She therefore took leave of the abbess and went to bed, gently rocked by the ideas of vengeance to which the name of Ketty had so naturally led her. She remembered that almost unlimited promise which the cardinal had made her, if she succeeded in her enterprise. She had succeeded; she could therefore revenge herself on d'Artagnan.

One thing only frightened Milady: it was the recollection of her husband! the Comte de La Fère, whom she had believed dead, or at least expatriated, and whom she found again in Athos, the best friend of d'Artagnan.

But also, if he was the friend of d'Artagnan, he must have assisted him in all the machinations by which the queen had baffled the projects of His Eminence; if he was the friend of d'Artagnan, he was the enemy of the cardinal; and doubtless she would succeed in enveloping him in the vengeance in the folds of which she counted on stifling the young musketeer.

All these hopes were sweet thoughts for Milady; so, rocked by them, she soon fell asleep.

She was awakened by a soft voice which sounded at the foot of her bed. She opened her eyes and saw the abbess, accompanied by a young woman with fair hair, delicate complexion, who fixed on her a look full of benevolent curiosity.

The face of this young woman was completely unknown to her; they examined each other with scrupulous attention, while exchanging the usual compliments; both were very handsome, but of entirely different types of beauty. However, Milady smiled on recognizing that she far surpassed the young woman in grand air and aristocratic manners. It is true that the novice's dress which the young woman wore was not very advantageous for sustaining a contest of that kind.

The abbess presented them to each other; then, when that formality was fulfilled, as her duties called her to church, she left the two young women alone.

The novice, seeing Milady in bed, wanted to follow the superior, but Milady detained her.

"How, madame," she said to her, "I have hardly seen you, and you already wish to deprive me of your presence, on which I counted a little, I confess, for the time I have to pass here?"

"No, madame," replied the novice, "only I feared I had chosen my time badly; you were sleeping, you are fatigued."

"Well," said Milady, "what can people who are sleeping ask for? A good waking. This waking you have given me; let me enjoy it at my ease."

And taking her hand, she drew her into an armchair which was near her bed.

The novice sat down.

"My God!" said she, "how unfortunate I am! Here have I been six months in this place, without the shadow of a diversion; you arrive, your presence was about to be a charming companion for me, and now, in all probability, from one moment to another I shall leave the convent!"

"How!" said Milady, "are you going out soon?"

"At least I hope so," said the novice, with an expression of joy which she did not at all try to disguise.

"I think I have learned that you suffered on the part of the cardinal," continued Milady; "that would have been an additional reason for sympathy between us."

"Then what our good mother told me is true, that you also are a victim of that wicked cardinal?"

"Hush!" said Milady; "let us not speak of him thus, even here; all my misfortunes come from having said nearly what you have just said before a woman whom I thought my friend and who betrayed me. And you, also, are you the victim of a betrayal?"

"No," said the novice, "but of my devotion to a woman whom I loved, for whom I would have given my life, for whom I would give it still."

"And who has abandoned you—that is it!"

"I was unjust enough to believe so, but within the last two or three days I have obtained proof to the contrary, and I thank God for it; it would have cost me much to believe she had forgotten me. But you, madame," continued the novice, "it seems to me that you are free, and that if you wished to fly, it would only depend on yourself."

"Where would you have me go, without friends, without money, in a part of France I do not know, where I have never been?—"

"Oh!" cried the novice, "as for friends, you will have them wherever you show yourself, you appear so good and you are so handsome!"

"That does not prevent," replied Milady, softening her smile so as to give it an angelic expression, "that I am alone and persecuted."

"Listen," said the novice; "we must hope in Heaven, you see; there always comes a moment when the good we have done pleads our cause before God; and, look you, perhaps it is a piece of good fortune for you, humble and powerless as I am, that you have met me; for if I go from here, well, I shall have some powerful friends, who, after having exerted themselves for me, may also exert themselves for you."

"Oh! when I said I was alone," said Milady, hoping to make the novice speak by speaking of herself, "it is not for want of having also some high acquaintances; but these acquaintances themselves tremble before the cardinal; the queen herself does not dare to oppose the terrible minister; I have proof that Her Majesty, in spite of her excellent heart, has more than once been obliged to abandon to the anger of His Eminence persons who had served her."

"Believe me, madame, the queen may appear to have abandoned those persons; but we must not trust appearances; the more they are persecuted, the more she thinks of them, and often, when they least expect it, they have proof of a kind remembrance."

"Alas!" said Milady, "I believe it; the queen is so good."

"Oh! you know her then, that beautiful and noble queen, that you speak of her thus!" cried the novice with enthusiasm.

"That is to say," replied Milady, forced into her entrenchments, "I have not the honor of knowing her personally; but I know many of her most intimate friends: I know M. de Putange; I knew in England M. Dujart; I know M. de Tréville."

"M. de Tréville!" cried the novice, "you know M. de Tréville?"

"Yes, perfectly well, even intimately."

"The captain of the king's musketeers?"

"The captain of the king's musketeers."

"Oh! but you will see," cried the novice, "that presently we shall be complete acquaintances, almost friends; if you know M. de Tréville, you must have been to his house?"

"Often!" said Milady, who, having entered this path, and perceiving that the lie succeeded, wished to push it to the end.

"At his house you must have seen some of his musketeers?"

"All those he habitually receives!" replied Milady, for whom this conversation began to take a real interest.

"Name me some of those you know, and you will see that they are my friends."

"But," said Milady, embarrassed, "I know M. de Louvigny, M. de Courtivron, M. de Férussac."

The novice let her speak; then, seeing that she stopped:

"You do not know," she said, "a gentleman named Athos?"

Milady became as pale as the sheets in which she was lying, and, however much she was mistress of herself, could not help uttering a cry, seizing her interlocutress's hand and devouring her with her eyes.

"What! what is the matter? Oh! my God!" asked the poor woman, "have I said anything that wounded you?"

"No; but that name struck me, because I, too, have known that gentleman, and it seems strange to me to find some one who knows him much."

"Oh! yes! much! much! not only him, but also his friends: MM. Porthos and Aramis!"

"In truth! them also I know!" cried Milady, who felt the cold penetrate to her heart.

"Well, if you know them, you must know that they are good and frank companions; why do you not apply to them if you need support?"

"That is to say," stammered Milady, "I am not really intimate with any of them; I know them from having heard a great deal about them from one of their friends, M. d'Artagnan."

"You know M. d'Artagnan!" cried the novice in her turn, seizing Milady's hand and devouring her with her eyes.

Then, noticing the strange expression of Milady's look:

"Pardon, madame," said she; "you know him, on what terms?"

"But," replied Milady, embarrassed, "but—on terms of friendship."

"You deceive me, madame," said the novice; "you have been his mistress."

"It is you who have been his mistress, madame," cried Milady in her turn.

"I!" said the novice.

"Yes, you; I know you now: you are Madame Bonacieux."

The young woman drew back, full of surprise and terror.

"Oh! do not deny it! answer," continued Milady.

"Well, yes, madame! I love him; are we rivals?"

Milady's face was illuminated with such a savage fire that in any other circumstance Madame Bonacieux would have fled in terror; but she was entirely absorbed in her jealousy.

"Come, tell me, madame," resumed Madame Bonacieux with an energy of which she would have been thought incapable, "have you been or are you his mistress?"

"Oh! no!" cried Milady with an accent that admitted no doubt of its truth, "never! never!"

"I believe you," said Madame Bonacieux; "but why, then, did you cry out so?"

"How, do you not understand?" said Milady, who had already recovered from her trouble and regained all her presence of mind.

"How would you have me understand? I know nothing."

"Do you not understand that M. d'Artagnan being my friend, he took me for his confidante?"

"Truly!"

"Do you not understand that I know all—your abduction from the little house at Saint-Germain, his despair, that of his friends, their useless search ever since! And how would you not have me astonished when, without suspecting it, I find myself face to face with you, with you of whom we have so often spoken together, with you whom he loves with all the strength of his soul, with you whom he had made me love before I had seen you! Ah! dear Constance, I find you then, I see you at last!"

And Milady held out her arms to Madame Bonacieux, who, convinced by what she had just told her, saw in this woman, whom an instant before she had believed her rival, nothing but a sincere and devoted friend.

"Oh! forgive me! forgive me!" cried she, letting herself fall on her shoulder, "I love him so!"

These two women held each other embraced for an instant. Certainly, if Milady's strength had been equal to her hatred, Madame Bonacieux would never have come out alive from that embrace. But, not being able to stifle her, she smiled at her.

"Oh, dear, beautiful, dear, good little creature!" said Milady; "how happy I am to see you! Let me look at you." And saying these words, she did indeed devour her with her eyes. "Yes, it is you indeed. Ah! from what he told me, I recognize you now, I recognize you perfectly."

The poor young woman could not suspect what frightfully cruel feeling was passing behind the rampart of that pure brow, behind those bright eyes in which she read nothing but interest and compassion.

"Then you know what I have suffered," said Madame Bonacieux, "since he told you what he suffered; but to suffer for him is happiness."

Milady replied mechanically:

"Yes, it is happiness."

She was thinking of something else.

"And then," continued Madame Bonacieux, "my torture draws to an end; tomorrow, this evening perhaps, I shall see him again, and then the past will exist no more."

"This evening? tomorrow?" cried Milady, roused from her reverie by these words; "what do you mean? Do you expect some news from him?"

"I expect himself."

"Himself! d'Artagnan, here!"

"Himself."

"But it is impossible! he is at the siege of La Rochelle with the cardinal; he will not return to Paris until after the taking of the town."

"You think so, but is there anything impossible for my d'Artagnan, the noble and loyal gentleman!"

"Oh! I cannot believe you!"

"Well, read, then!" said, in the excess of her pride and joy, the unfortunate young woman, presenting a letter to Milady.

"The handwriting of Madame de Chevreuse!" said Milady to herself. "Ah! I was quite sure they had intelligence from that quarter!"

And she read avidly these few lines:

"My dear child, hold yourself ready; our friend will see you soon, and he will only see you to snatch you from the prison where your safety required that you should be concealed; prepare yourself then for departure and never despair of us. "Our charming Gascon has just shown himself brave and faithful as ever; tell him that we are very grateful to him somewhere for the warning he has given."

"Yes, yes," said Milady; "yes, the letter is precise. Do you know what that warning is?"

"No. I only suspect that he will have warned the queen of some new machination of the cardinal's."

"Yes, that is it, no doubt!" said Milady, returning the letter to Madame Bonacieux and letting her pensive head fall on her breast.

At that moment the gallop of a horse was heard.

"Oh!" cried Madame Bonacieux, darting to the window, "can it be he already?"

Milady remained in her bed, petrified by surprise; so many unexpected things suddenly happened to her that for the first time her head failed her.

"He! he!" she murmured; "can it be he?"

And she remained in her bed with fixed eyes.

"Alas, no!" said Madame Bonacieux; "it is a man I do not know, and yet he seems to be coming here; yes, he slackens his pace, he stops at the door, he rings."

Milady sprang out of bed.

"You are quite sure it is not he?" said she.

"Oh! yes, quite sure!"

"You perhaps saw badly."

"Oh! I should see the feather of his hat, the hem of his cloak, and I should recognize him, I should!"

Milady was dressing all the while.

"No matter! this man is coming here, you say?"

"Yes, he has entered."

"It is either for you or for me."

"Oh! my God, how agitated you seem!"

"Yes, I confess it; I have not your confidence; I fear everything from the cardinal."

"Hush!" said Madame Bonacieux; "someone is coming!"

Indeed, the door opened, and the superior entered.

"Did you come from Boulogne?" she asked Milady.

"Yes, I did," replied the latter, and, trying to recover her composure, "who asks for me?"

"A man who will not tell his name, but who comes from the cardinal."

"And who wishes to speak to me?" asked Milady.

"Who wishes to speak to a lady who arrived from Boulogne."

"Then show him in, madame, I pray you."

"Oh! my God! my God!" said Madame Bonacieux, "can it be some bad news?"

"I fear so."

"I leave you with this stranger, but as soon as he is gone, if you permit, I will return."

"Certainly, I beg you."

The superior and Madame Bonacieux went out.

Milady remained alone, her eyes fixed on the door; an instant afterwards the sound of spurs was heard on the stairs, then steps approached, then the door opened, and a man appeared.

Milady uttered a cry of joy: this man was the Comte de Rochefort, the soul of His Eminence.

CHAPTER LXII. TWO VARIETIES OF DEMONS

"Ah!" cried Rochefort and Milady together, "it is you!"

"Yes, it is I."

"And you come—?" asked Milady.

"From La Rochelle; and you?"

"From England."

"Buckingham?"

"Dead or dangerously wounded; as I left without having been able to obtain anything from him, a fanatic had just assassinated him."

"Ah!" said Rochefort with a smile, "here is a very lucky chance! and one that will satisfy His Eminence! Did you inform him?"

"I wrote to him from Boulogne. But how come you here?"

"His Eminence, uneasy, sent me to seek you."

"I arrived only yesterday."

"And what have you done since yesterday?"

"I have not lost my time."

"Oh! I doubt it not!"

"Do you know whom I have met here?"

"No."

"Guess."

"How would you have me—?"

"That young woman whom the queen released from prison."

"The mistress of little d'Artagnan?"

"Yes, Madame Bonacieux, whose retreat the cardinal did not know."

"Well," said Rochefort, "here is another chance that may match the other. M. le Cardinal is in truth a privileged man."

"Do you understand my astonishment," continued Milady, "when I found myself face to face with that woman?"

"Does she know you?"

"No."

"Then she looks upon you as a stranger?"

Milady smiled.

"I am her best friend!"

"Upon my honor," said Rochefort, "there is only you, my dear countess, for working such miracles."

"And well it served me, chevalier," said Milady; "for do you know what is going on?"

"No."

"She is to be fetched tomorrow or the day after by an order from the queen."

"Really? and by whom?"

"By d'Artagnan and his friends."

"In truth, they will do so much that we shall be obliged to send them to the Bastille."

"Why is it not already done?"

"What would you have! because M. le Cardinal has a weakness for these men that I cannot understand."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Well, tell him this, Rochefort: tell him that our conversation at the Red Dovecot inn was overheard by these four men; tell him that after his departure, one of them came up and violently tore from me the safe-conduct he had given me; tell him that they had Lord de Winter warned of my going to England; that, this time again, they almost caused my mission to fail, as they caused that of the diamond tags to fail; tell him that among these four men, only two are to be feared, d'Artagnan and Athos; tell him that the third, Aramis, is the lover of Madame de Chevreuse: we must let that one live, his secret is known, he may be useful; as for the fourth, Porthos, he is a fool, a coxcomb, and a simpleton, do not even trouble about him."

"But these four men must be at this moment at the siege of La Rochelle."

"I thought so as you did; but a letter which Madame Bonacieux has received from Madame de Chevreuse, and which she had the imprudence to communicate to me, leads me to believe that these four men are, on the contrary, in the field to come and carry her off."

"The devil! how shall we manage?"

"What did the cardinal say to you about me?"

"That I was to take your despatches, written or verbal, to return post, and that, when he knows what you have done, he will consider what you must do."

"I must then remain here?" asked Milady.

"Here or in the neighborhood."

“Stories of the world, in your language.”