Part 55

# Chapter LV: Part 55

"Your companion!" cried d'Artagnan, growing paler than the white veil of his mistress. "What companion do you mean to speak of?"

"Of her whose carriage was at the door—of a woman who calls herself your friend, d'Artagnan—of a woman to whom you have told everything."

"Her name—her name!" cried d'Artagnan. "My God! Do you not know her name?"

"Yes, I have heard it pronounced. Wait—but it is strange—oh, my God! My head is confused—I can see nothing."

"Help, my friends, help!" cried d'Artagnan. "Her hands are icy cold—she is fainting—Great God! She is losing consciousness!"

While Porthos called for help with all his might, Aramis ran to the table to fetch a glass of water; but he stopped in horror at the terrible change in Athos's face, who, standing before the table with his hair on end and his eyes fixed in stupefaction, was staring at one of the glasses and seemed to be in the grip of the most horrible doubt.

"Oh!" said Athos. "Oh, no—it is impossible! God would not permit such a crime!"

"Water, water!" cried d'Artagnan. "Water!"

"Poor woman, poor woman!" murmured Athos in a broken voice.

Madame Bonacieux opened her eyes beneath d'Artagnan's kisses.

"She is coming back!" cried the young man. "Oh, my God, my God! I thank Thee!"

"Madame," said Athos, "madame, in Heaven's name! To whom does this empty glass belong?"

"To me, monsieur," replied the young woman in a dying voice.

"But who poured the wine that was in this glass?"

"_She_ did."

"But who is _she_?"

"Ah, I remember now," said Madame Bonacieux. "The Comtesse de Winter—"

The four friends uttered a single cry, but Athos's voice dominated all the others.

At that moment, Madame Bonacieux's face became livid; a dull pain seized her, and she fell gasping into the arms of Porthos and Aramis.

D'Artagnan seized Athos's hands with an anguish difficult to describe.

"And what!" he said. "Do you think—"

His voice died in a sob.

"I think everything," said Athos, biting his lips until the blood came.

"D'Artagnan, d'Artagnan!" cried Madame Bonacieux. "Where are you? Do not leave me—you can see that I am dying!"

D'Artagnan released Athos's hands, which he still held in his clenched grip, and ran to her.

Her beautiful face was completely distorted; her glassy eyes had already lost their sight; a convulsive trembling agitated her body; sweat ran down her forehead.

"In Heaven's name—run—call Porthos, Aramis—ask for help!"

"It is useless," said Athos. "Useless. For the poison she pours, there is no antidote."

"Yes, yes—help, help!" murmured Madame Bonacieux. "Help!"

Then, gathering all her strength, she took the young man's head between her two hands, looked at him for an instant as if all her soul had passed into her gaze, and with a sobbing cry, pressed her lips to his.

"Constance! Constance!" cried d'Artagnan.

A sigh escaped from Madame Bonacieux's lips, brushing against d'Artagnan's; that sigh was that chaste and loving soul ascending to heaven.

D'Artagnan held nothing more than a corpse in his arms.

The young man uttered a cry and fell beside his mistress, as pale and as cold as she.

Porthos wept; Aramis shook his fist at heaven; Athos made the sign of the cross.

At that moment, a man appeared at the door, almost as pale as those in the room, and looked all around him, saw Madame Bonacieux dead and d'Artagnan unconscious.

He appeared precisely at that moment of stupor that follows great catastrophes.

"I was not mistaken," he said. "There is M. d'Artagnan, and you are his three friends—Messieurs Athos, Porthos, and Aramis."

Those whose names had just been pronounced looked at the stranger with astonishment; all three seemed to recognize him.

"Gentlemen," continued the newcomer, "you are, like me, in search of a woman who," he added with a terrible smile, "must have passed this way, for I see a corpse here!"

The three friends remained silent; only the voice as well as the face reminded them of a man they had seen before; however, they could not remember under what circumstances.

"Gentlemen," continued the stranger, "since you refuse to recognize a man who probably owes you his life twice over, I must name myself. I am Lord de Winter, the brother-in-law of that woman."

The three friends uttered a cry of surprise.

Athos rose and held out his hand to him.

"You are welcome, milord," he said. "You are one of us."

"I left Portsmouth five hours after her," said Lord de Winter. "I arrived at Boulogne three hours after her; I missed her by twenty minutes at Saint-Omer; finally, at Lillers, I lost her trail. I was going at random, inquiring of everyone, when I saw you pass at a gallop. I recognized M. d'Artagnan. I called to you; you did not answer. I wished to follow you, but my horse was too tired to keep pace with yours. And yet, it appears that despite the diligence you have shown, you have arrived too late!"

"You see," said Athos, showing Lord de Winter the dead Madame Bonacieux and d'Artagnan, whom Porthos and Aramis were trying to revive.

"Are they both dead?" asked Lord de Winter coldly.

"No, fortunately," replied Athos. "M. d'Artagnan has only fainted."

"Ah, so much the better!" said Lord de Winter.

Indeed, at that moment d'Artagnan opened his eyes again.

He tore himself from the arms of Porthos and Aramis and threw himself like a madman upon the body of his mistress.

Athos rose, walked toward his friend with a slow and solemn step, embraced him tenderly, and as he burst into sobs, said to him in that noble and persuasive voice:

"Friend, be a man. Women weep for the dead; men avenge them!"

"Oh, yes!" said d'Artagnan. "Yes! If it is to avenge her, I am ready to follow you!"

Athos took advantage of this moment of strength that the hope of vengeance gave to his unhappy friend to signal to Porthos and Aramis to go fetch the Mother Superior.

The two friends met her in the corridor, still troubled and bewildered by so many events. She called some nuns, who, contrary to all monastic customs, found themselves in the presence of five men.

"Madame," said Athos, taking d'Artagnan's arm under his own, "we leave the body of this unhappy woman to your pious care. She was an angel on earth before becoming an angel in heaven. Treat her as one of your sisters. We shall return one day to pray upon her tomb."

D'Artagnan buried his face in Athos's chest and burst into sobs.

"Weep," said Athos. "Weep, heart full of love, of youth, and of life! Alas, I wish I could weep like you!"

And he led away his friend, affectionate as a father, consoling as a priest, great as a man who has suffered much.

All five, followed by their servants, holding their horses by the bridle, advanced toward the town of Béthune, whose outskirts they could see, and stopped before the first inn they encountered.

"But," said d'Artagnan, "are we not going to pursue that woman?"

"Later," said Athos. "I have measures to take."

"She will escape us," replied the young man. "She will escape us, Athos, and it will be your fault."

"I answer for her," said Athos.

D'Artagnan had such confidence in his friend's word that he lowered his head and entered the inn without responding.

Porthos and Aramis looked at each other, understanding nothing of Athos's assurance.

Lord de Winter believed that he spoke thus to dull d'Artagnan's grief.

"Now, gentlemen," said Athos, when he had made sure that there were five rooms vacant in the inn, "let us each withdraw to our own. D'Artagnan needs to be alone to weep, and you to sleep. I will take charge of everything; be tranquil."

"Nevertheless," said Lord de Winter, "if there are any measures to take against the countess, that concerns me: she is my sister-in-law."

"And I," said Athos, "she is my wife."

D'Artagnan started, for he understood that Athos was sure of his vengeance, since he revealed such a secret. Porthos and Aramis looked at each other, turning pale. Lord de Winter thought Athos was mad.

"Withdraw, then," said Athos, "and leave me to act. You can see that as her husband, this concerns me. Only, d'Artagnan, if you have not lost it, give me that paper that fell from that man's hat, upon which the name of the town was written—"

"Ah!" said d'Artagnan. "I understand—that name written by her hand—"

"You can see," said Athos, "that there is a God in heaven!"

# Chapter LXIV: The Man in the Red Cloak

The despair of Athos had given way to a concentrated grief that rendered even more lucid the brilliant faculties of this man.

Entirely absorbed by a single thought—that of the promise he had made and the responsibility he had taken—he withdrew last to his room, asked the innkeeper to procure him a map of the province, bent over it, studied the traced lines, recognized that four different roads led from Béthune to Armentières, and summoned the servants.

Planchet, Grimaud, Mousqueton, and Bazin presented themselves and received Athos's clear, precise, and grave orders.

They were to set out at daybreak the next morning and proceed to Armentières, each by a different route. Planchet, the most intelligent of the four, was to follow the road by which the carriage on which the four friends had fired had disappeared, and which, it will be remembered, was accompanied by Rochefort's servant.

Athos put the servants into action first, because, since these men had been in his service and that of his friends, he had recognized in each of them different and essential qualities.

Moreover, servants who ask questions inspire less distrust in passers-by than their masters do, and find more sympathy from those they address.

Finally, Milady knew the masters, while she did not know the servants; on the contrary, the servants knew Milady perfectly.

All four were to meet the next day at eleven o'clock at the designated place; if they had discovered Milady's retreat, three would remain to guard her, while the fourth would return to Béthune to warn Athos and serve as guide to the four friends.

These arrangements made, the servants withdrew in their turn.

Athos then rose from his chair, girded on his sword, wrapped himself in his cloak, and left the inn. It was about ten o'clock. At ten in the evening, as is known, the streets in the provinces are little frequented. Athos, however, was visibly looking for someone to whom he could address a question. At last he met a belated passer-by, approached him, and said a few words to him. The man he addressed recoiled with terror, yet he answered the musketeer's words with an indication. Athos offered the man half a pistole to accompany him, but the man refused.

Athos plunged into the street that the indicator had pointed out with his finger; but arriving at a crossroads, he stopped again, visibly embarrassed. However, since more than any other place, the crossroads offered him the chance of meeting someone, he stopped there. Indeed, after a moment, a night watchman passed. Athos repeated to him the same question he had already asked the first person he had met. The night watchman showed the same terror, refused in his turn to accompany Athos, and pointed out with his hand the road he was to follow.

Athos walked in the indicated direction and reached the suburb situated at the opposite end of the town from that by which he and his companions had entered. There he seemed again anxious and embarrassed, and stopped for the third time.

Fortunately, a beggar passed, who approached Athos to ask for alms. Athos offered him a crown to accompany him where he was going. The beggar hesitated a moment, but at the sight of the silver coin that shone in the darkness, he decided and walked before Athos.

Arriving at a street corner, he showed him from afar a small house, isolated, solitary, and sad. Athos approached it, while the beggar, who had received his wage, fled at full speed.

Athos made a circuit around it before distinguishing the door amid the reddish color with which this house was painted. No light appeared through the cracks of the shutters; no noise could make one suppose it was inhabited. It was dark and silent as a tomb.

Three times Athos knocked without receiving an answer. At the third knock, however, interior footsteps approached; finally the door opened a crack, and a man of tall stature, with a pale complexion, black hair and beard, appeared.

Athos and he exchanged a few words in a low voice; then the tall man made a sign to the musketeer that he could enter. Athos immediately took advantage of the permission, and the door closed behind him.

The man whom Athos had come to seek so far and had found with so much difficulty, led him into his laboratory, where he was occupied in retaining with iron wires the clattering bones of a skeleton. The entire body was already reassembled; only the head was placed on a table.

All the rest of the furnishings indicated that he with whom one found oneself was occupied with natural sciences: there were jars full of snakes, labeled according to species; dried lizards shone like cut emeralds in large frames of black wood; finally, bunches of wild herbs, fragrant and doubtless endowed with virtues unknown to the common run of men, were attached to the ceiling and hung down into the corners of the apartment.

Moreover, there was no family, no servants; the tall man lived alone in this house.

Athos cast a cold and indifferent glance over all the objects we have just described, and, at the invitation of him whom he had come to seek, sat down near him.

Then he explained to him the cause of his visit and the service he required of him; but scarcely had he made his request, when the unknown, who had remained standing before the musketeer, recoiled with terror and refused. Then Athos drew from his pocket a small paper on which were written two lines accompanied by a signature and a seal, and presented it to him who was giving too prematurely these signs of repugnance. The tall man had scarcely read these two lines, seen the signature, and recognized the seal, than he bowed to indicate that he had no further objection to make and was ready to obey.

Athos asked no more; he rose, saluted, went out, retraced the way he had come, returned to the inn, and shut himself up in his room.

At daybreak, d'Artagnan entered his chamber and asked what was to be done.

"Wait," replied Athos.

Some moments afterward, the Mother Superior of the convent sent word to the musketeers that the burial of Milady's victim would take place at noon. As for the poisoner, there was no news of her; only she must have fled through the garden, on the sand of which the trace of her steps had been recognized, and the door of which had been found closed; as for the key, it had disappeared.

At the appointed hour, Lord de Winter and the four friends repaired to the convent. The bells were ringing at full peal; the chapel was open; the grille of the choir was closed. In the center of the choir, the body of the victim, clothed in her novice's habit, was exposed. On each side of the choir and behind the grilles opening onto the convent was the entire community of Carmelites, who listened from there to the divine service and mingled their singing with that of the priests, without seeing the profane and without being seen by them.

At the door of the chapel, d'Artagnan felt his courage failing him again; he turned to look for Athos, but Athos had disappeared.

Faithful to his mission of vengeance, Athos had had himself led to the garden; and there, on the sand, following the light steps of that woman who had left a bloody trace wherever she had passed, he advanced to the door that opened onto the wood, had it opened for him, and plunged into the forest.

Then all his doubts were confirmed: the road by which the carriage had disappeared skirted the forest. Athos followed the road for some time, his eyes fixed on the ground; light spots of blood, which came from a wound inflicted either on the man who accompanied the carriage as a courier, or on one of the horses, dotted the road. After about three-quarters of a league, fifty paces from Festubert, a larger bloodstain appeared; the ground was trampled by horses. Between the forest and this tell-tale spot, a little behind the torn earth, the same trace of small steps as in the garden was found; the carriage had stopped.

At this spot, Milady had come out of the wood and had climbed into the carriage.

Satisfied with this discovery, which confirmed all his suspicions, Athos returned to the inn and found Planchet, who was waiting for him impatiently.

Everything was as Athos had foreseen.

Planchet had followed the road; like Athos, he had noticed the bloodstains; like Athos, he had recognized the spot where the horses had stopped; but he had pushed further than Athos, so that at the village of Festubert, while drinking at an inn, he had learned, without needing to ask, that the previous evening at half-past eight, a wounded man who accompanied a lady traveling in a post-chaise had been obliged to stop, being unable to go further. The accident was attributed to robbers who had stopped the carriage in the wood. The man remained in the village; the woman had changed horses and continued on her way.

Planchet set out in search of the postilion who had driven the carriage, and found him. He had driven the lady as far as Fromelles, and from Fromelles she had set out for Armentières. Planchet took the cross-country route, and at seven o'clock in the morning he was at Armentières.

There was only one inn, the Poste. Planchet presented himself there as a footman without a place looking for a situation. He had not spoken ten minutes with the inn people before he learned that a woman alone had arrived at eleven o'clock at night, had taken a room, had sent for the innkeeper, and told him that she wished to remain in the vicinity for some time.

Planchet needed to know no more. He ran to the rendezvous, found the three lackeys exact at their post, placed them as sentinels at all the exits of the inn, and came to find Athos, who was finishing receiving Planchet's information when his friends returned.

All faces were somber and drawn, even Aramis's gentle face.

"What must be done?" asked d'Artagnan.

"Wait," replied Athos.

Each withdrew to his own room.

At eight o'clock in the evening, Athos gave the order to saddle the horses and sent word to Lord de Winter and his friends to prepare for the expedition.

In an instant all five were ready. Each inspected his arms and put them in order. Athos came down first and found d'Artagnan already on horseback, growing impatient.

"Patience," said Athos. "We are still missing someone."

The four horsemen looked around them with astonishment, for they searched in vain in their minds for who this someone could be that they might be missing.

At that moment Planchet brought Athos's horse; the musketeer sprang lightly into the saddle.

"Wait for me," he said. "I will return."

And he set off at a gallop.

A quarter of an hour later, he returned indeed, accompanied by a masked man enveloped in a large red cloak.

Lord de Winter and the three musketeers looked at each other questioningly. None of them could inform the others, for all were ignorant of what this man was. Nevertheless, they thought that this must be right, since it was done by Athos's order.

At nine o'clock, guided by Planchet, the little cavalcade set out, taking the road that the carriage had followed.

It was a sad spectacle, that of these six men riding in silence, each plunged in his own thoughts, gloomy as despair, somber as punishment.

# Chapter LXV: The Judgment

It was a stormy and dark night; heavy clouds coursed across the sky, veiling the brightness of the stars; the moon was not to rise until midnight.

Sometimes, by the light of a flash of lightning that gleamed on the horizon, one could see the road stretching out white and solitary; then, the lightning extinguished, everything returned to darkness.

At every moment, Athos invited d'Artagnan, who was always at the head of the little troop, to resume his rank, which he abandoned again after an instant; he had but one thought—to go forward—and he went.

They crossed in silence the village of Festubert, where the wounded servant had remained, then skirted the wood of Richebourg; arriving at Herlies, Planchet, who always directed the column, took to the left.

Several times Lord de Winter, or Porthos, or Aramis, had tried to speak to the man in the red cloak; but to every question put to him, he had bowed without answering. The travelers then understood that there was some reason for the unknown to keep silent, and they ceased to address him.

Moreover, the storm was increasing; the lightning followed rapidly one after another; thunder began to growl; and the wind, precursor of the hurricane, whistled across the plain, agitating the plumes of the horsemen.

The cavalcade broke into a trot.

A little beyond Fromelles, the storm broke; they unfolded their cloaks; there were still three leagues to go; they were made under torrents of rain.

D'Artagnan had removed his felt hat and had not put on his cloak; he found pleasure in letting the water stream over his burning brow and over his body shaken with feverish chills.

At the moment when the little troop had passed Goskal and was about to arrive at the post-house, a man, sheltered under a tree, detached himself from the trunk with which he had remained confounded in the darkness, and advanced into the middle of the road, putting his finger to his lips.

Athos recognized Grimaud.

"What is it, then?" cried d'Artagnan. "Has she left Armentières?"

Grimaud made an affirmative sign with his head. D'Artagnan ground his teeth.

"Silence, d'Artagnan!" said Athos. "I am the one who has taken charge of everything; it is for me to question Grimaud."

"Where is she?" asked Athos.

Grimaud extended his hand in the direction of the Lys.

"Far from here?" asked Athos.

Grimaud presented to his master his bent forefinger.

"Alone?" asked Athos.

Grimaud signified yes.

"Gentlemen," said Athos, "she is alone, half a league from here, in the direction of the river."

"That is well," said d'Artagnan. "Lead us, Grimaud."

Grimaud took across the fields and served as guide to the cavalcade.

After about five hundred paces, they found a stream, which they forded.

By the light of a flash of lightning, they saw the village of Erquinghem.

"Is it there?" asked d'Artagnan.

Grimaud shook his head in negation.

"Silence, then!" said Athos.

And the troop continued on its way.

Another flash of lightning shone; Grimaud extended his arm, and by the bluish light of the fiery serpent they distinguished a small isolated house, on the riverbank, a hundred paces from a ferry. A window was lit.

"We are there," said Athos.

At that moment, a man lying in the ditch arose; it was Mousqueton; he pointed with his finger at the lighted window.

"She is there," he said.

"And Bazin?" asked Athos.

"While I guarded the window, he guarded the door."

“Stories of the world, in your language.”