The three musketeers
and behind the gratings opening into the convent was assembled the
whole community of the Carmelites, who listened to the divine service,
and mingled their chant with the chant of the priests, without seeing
the profane, or being seen by them.
At the door of the chapel D’Artagnan felt his courage fall anew, and
returned to look for Athos; but Athos had disappeared.
Faithful to his mission of vengeance, Athos had requested to be
conducted to the garden; and there upon the sand following the light
steps of this woman, who left sharp tracks wherever she went, he
advanced toward the gate which led into the wood, and causing it to be
opened, he went out into the forest.
Then all his suspicions were confirmed; the road by which the carriage
had disappeared encircled the forest. Athos followed the road for some
time, his eyes fixed upon the ground; slight stains of blood, which
came from the wound inflicted upon the man who accompanied the carriage
as a courier, or from one of the horses, dotted the road. At the end of
three-quarters of a league, within fifty paces of Festubert, a larger
bloodstain appeared; the ground was trampled by horses. Between the
forest and this accursed spot, a little behind the trampled ground, was
the same track of small feet as in the garden; the carriage had stopped
here. At this spot Milady had come out of the wood, and entered the
carriage.
Satisfied with this discovery which confirmed all his suspicions, Athos
returned to the hôtel, and found Planchet impatiently waiting for him.
Everything was as Athos had foreseen.
Planchet had followed the road; like Athos, he had discovered the
stains of blood; like Athos, he had noted the spot where the horses had
halted. But he had gone farther than Athos—for at the village of
Festubert, while drinking at an inn, he had learned without needing to
ask a question that the evening before, at half-past eight, a wounded
man who accompanied a lady traveling in a post-chaise had been obliged
to stop, unable to go further. The accident was set down to the account
of robbers, who had stopped the chaise in the wood. The man remained in
the village; the woman had had a relay of horses, and continued her
journey.
Planchet went in search of the postillion who had driven her, and found
him. He had taken the lady as far as Fromelles; and from Fromelles she
had set out for Armentières. Planchet took the crossroad, and by seven
o’clock in the morning he was at Armentières.
There was but one tavern, the Post. Planchet went and presented himself
as a lackey out of a place, who was in search of a situation. He had
not chatted ten minutes with the people of the tavern before he learned
that a woman had come there alone about eleven o’clock the night
before, had engaged a chamber, had sent for the master of the hôtel,
and told him she desired to remain some time in the neighborhood.
Planchet had no need to learn more. He hastened to the rendezvous,
found the lackeys at their posts, placed them as sentinels at all the
outlets of the hôtel, and came to find Athos, who had just received
this information when his friends returned.
All their countenances were melancholy and gloomy, even the mild
countenance of Aramis.
“What is to be done?” asked D’Artagnan.
“To wait!” replied Athos.
Each retired to his own apartment.
At eight o’clock in the evening Athos ordered the horses to be saddled,
and Lord de Winter and his friends notified that they must prepare for
the expedition.
In an instant all five were ready. Each examined his arms, and put them
in order. Athos came down last, and found D’Artagnan already on
horseback, and growing impatient.
“Patience!” cried Athos; “one of our party is still wanting.”
The four horsemen looked round them with astonishment, for they sought
vainly in their minds to know who this other person could be.
At this moment Planchet brought out Athos’s horse; the Musketeer leaped
lightly into the saddle.
“Wait for me,” cried he, “I will soon be back,” and he set off at a
gallop.
In a quarter of an hour he returned, accompanied by a tall man, masked,
and wrapped in a large red cloak.
Lord de Winter and the three Musketeers looked at one another
inquiringly. Neither could give the others any information, for all
were ignorant who this man could be; nevertheless, they felt convinced
that all was as it should be, as it was done by the order of Athos.
At nine o’clock, guided by Planchet, the little cavalcade set out,
taking the route the carriage had taken.
It was a melancholy sight—that of these six men, traveling in silence,
each plunged in his own thoughts, sad as despair, gloomy as
chastisement.
Chapter LXV.
TRIAL
It was a stormy and dark night; vast clouds covered the heavens,
concealing the stars; the moon would not rise till midnight.
Occasionally, by the light of a flash of lightning which gleamed along
the horizon, the road stretched itself before them, white and solitary;
the flash extinct, all remained in darkness.
Every minute Athos was forced to restrain D’Artagnan, constantly in
advance of the little troop, and to beg him to keep in the line, which
in an instant he again departed from. He had but one thought—to go
forward; and he went.
They passed in silence through the little village of Festubert, where
the wounded servant was, and then skirted the wood of Richebourg. At
Herlier, Planchet, who led the column, turned to the left.
Several times Lord de Winter, Porthos, or Aramis tried to talk with the
man in the red cloak; but to every interrogation which they put to him
he bowed, without response. The travelers then comprehended that there
must be some reason why the unknown preserved such a silence, and
ceased to address themselves to him.
The storm increased, the flashes succeeded one another more rapidly,
the thunder began to growl, and the wind, the precursor of a hurricane,
whistled in the plumes and the hair of the horsemen.
The cavalcade trotted on more sharply.
A little before they came to Fromelles the storm burst. They spread
their cloaks. There remained three leagues to travel, and they did it
amid torrents of rain.
D’Artagnan took off his hat, and could not be persuaded to make use of
his cloak. He found pleasure in feeling the water trickle over his
burning brow and over his body, agitated by feverish shudders.
The moment the little troop passed Goskal and were approaching the
Post, a man sheltered beneath a tree detached himself from the trunk
with which he had been confounded in the darkness, and advanced into
the middle of the road, putting his finger on his lips.
Athos recognized Grimaud.
“What’s the manner?” cried Athos. “Has she left Armentières?”
Grimaud made a sign in the affirmative. D’Artagnan ground his teeth.
“Silence, D’Artagnan!” said Athos. “I have charged myself with this
affair. It is for me, then, to interrogate Grimaud.”
“Where is she?” asked Athos.
Grimaud extended his hands in the direction of the Lys. “Far from
here?” asked Athos.
Grimaud showed his master his forefinger bent.
“Alone?” asked Athos.
Grimaud made the sign yes.
“Gentlemen,” said Athos, “she is alone within half a league of us, in
the direction of the river.”
“That’s well,” said D’Artagnan. “Lead us, Grimaud.”
Grimaud took his course across the country, and acted as guide to the
cavalcade.
At the end of five hundred paces, more or less, they came to a rivulet,
which they forded.
By the aid of the lightning they perceived the village of Erquinheim.
“Is she there, Grimaud?” asked Athos.
Grimaud shook his head negatively.
“Silence, then!” cried Athos.
And the troop continued their route.
Another flash illuminated all around them. Grimaud extended his arm,
and by the bluish splendor of the fiery serpent they distinguished a
little isolated house on the banks of the river, within a hundred paces
of a ferry.
One window was lighted.
“Here we are!” said Athos.
At this moment a man who had been crouching in a ditch jumped up and
came towards them. It was Mousqueton. He pointed his finger to the
lighted window.
“She is there,” said he.
“And Bazin?” asked Athos.
“While I watched the window, he guarded the door.”
“Good!” said Athos. “You are good and faithful servants.”
Athos sprang from his horse, gave the bridle to Grimaud, and advanced
toward the window, after having made a sign to the rest of the troop to
go toward the door.
The little house was surrounded by a low, quickset hedge, two or three
feet high. Athos sprang over the hedge and went up to the window, which
was without shutters, but had the half-curtains closely drawn.
He mounted the skirting stone that his eyes might look over the
curtain.
By the light of a lamp he saw a woman, wrapped in a dark mantle, seated
upon a stool near a dying fire. Her elbows were placed upon a mean
table, and she leaned her head upon her two hands, which were white as
ivory.
He could not distinguish her countenance, but a sinister smile passed
over the lips of Athos. He was not deceived; it was she whom he sought.
At this moment a horse neighed. Milady raised her head, saw close to
the panes the pale face of Athos, and screamed.
Athos, perceiving that she knew him, pushed the window with his knee
and hand. The window yielded. The squares were broken to shivers; and
Athos, like the spectre of vengeance, leaped into the room.
Milady rushed to the door and opened it. More pale and menacing than
Athos, D’Artagnan stood on the threshold.
Milady recoiled, uttering a cry. D’Artagnan, believing she might have
means of flight and fearing she should escape, drew a pistol from his
belt; but Athos raised his hand.
“Put back that weapon, D’Artagnan!” said he; “this woman must be tried,
not assassinated. Wait an instant, my friend, and you shall be
satisfied. Come in, gentlemen.”
D’Artagnan obeyed; for Athos had the solemn voice and the powerful
gesture of a judge sent by the Lord himself. Behind D’Artagnan entered
Porthos, Aramis, Lord de Winter, and the man in the red cloak.
The four lackeys guarded the door and the window.
Milady had sunk into a chair, with her hands extended, as if to conjure
this terrible apparition. Perceiving her brother-in-law, she uttered a
terrible cry.
“What do you want?” screamed Milady.
“We want,” said Athos, “Charlotte Backson, who first was called
Comtesse de la Fère, and afterwards Milady de Winter, Baroness of
Sheffield.”
“That is I! that is I!” murmured Milady, in extreme terror; “what do
you want?”
“We wish to judge you according to your crime,” said Athos; “you shall
be free to defend yourself. Justify yourself if you can. M. d’Artagnan,
it is for you to accuse her first.”
D’Artagnan advanced.
“Before God and before men,” said he, “I accuse this woman of having
poisoned Constance Bonacieux, who died yesterday evening.”
He turned towards Porthos and Aramis.
“We bear witness to this,” said the two Musketeers, with one voice.
D’Artagnan continued: “Before God and before men, I accuse this woman
of having attempted to poison me, in wine which she sent me from
Villeroy, with a forged letter, as if that wine came from my friends.
God preserved me, but a man named Brisemont died in my place.”
“We bear witness to this,” said Porthos and Aramis, in the same manner
as before.
“Before God and before men, I accuse this woman of having urged me to
the murder of the Baron de Wardes; but as no one else can attest the
truth of this accusation, I attest it myself. I have done.” And
D’Artagnan passed to the other side of the room with Porthos and
Aramis.
“Your turn, my Lord,” said Athos.
The baron came forward.
“Before God and before men,” said he, “I accuse this woman of having