The three musketeers
The latter wished to detain him by darting certain tender glances; but
Porthos urged the commands of duty, and the procurator’s wife was
obliged to give place to the king.
The Musketeer returned home hungry and in bad humor.
Chapter XXXIII.
SOUBRETTE AND MISTRESS
Meantime, as we have said, despite the cries of his conscience and the
wise counsels of Athos, D’Artagnan became hourly more in love with
Milady. Thus he never failed to pay his diurnal court to her; and the
self-satisfied Gascon was convinced that sooner or later she could not
fail to respond.
One day, when he arrived with his head in the air, and as light at
heart as a man who awaits a shower of gold, he found the _soubrette_
under the gateway of the hôtel; but this time the pretty Kitty was not
contented with touching him as he passed, she took him gently by the
hand.
“Good!” thought D’Artagnan, “She is charged with some message for me
from her mistress; she is about to appoint some rendezvous of which she
had not courage to speak.” And he looked down at the pretty girl with
the most triumphant air imaginable.
“I wish to say three words to you, Monsieur Chevalier,” stammered the
_soubrette_.
“Speak, my child, speak,” said D’Artagnan; “I listen.”
“Here? Impossible! That which I have to say is too long, and above all,
too secret.”
“Well, what is to be done?”
“If Monsieur Chevalier would follow me?” said Kitty, timidly.
“Where you please, my dear child.”
“Come, then.”
And Kitty, who had not let go the hand of D’Artagnan, led him up a
little dark, winding staircase, and after ascending about fifteen
steps, opened a door.
“Come in here, Monsieur Chevalier,” said she; “here we shall be alone,
and can talk.”
“And whose room is this, my dear child?”
“It is mine, Monsieur Chevalier; it communicates with my mistress’s by
that door. But you need not fear. She will not hear what we say; she
never goes to bed before midnight.”
D’Artagnan cast a glance around him. The little apartment was charming
for its taste and neatness; but in spite of himself, his eyes were
directed to that door which Kitty said led to Milady’s chamber.
Kitty guessed what was passing in the mind of the young man, and heaved
a deep sigh.
“You love my mistress, then, very dearly, Monsieur Chevalier?” said
she.
“Oh, more than I can say, Kitty! I am mad for her!”
Kitty breathed a second sigh.
“Alas, monsieur,” said she, “that is too bad.”
“What the devil do you see so bad in it?” said D’Artagnan.
“Because, monsieur,” replied Kitty, “my mistress loves you not at all.”
“_Hein!_” said D’Artagnan, “can she have charged you to tell me so?”
“Oh, no, monsieur; but out of the regard I have for you, I have taken
the resolution to tell you so.”
“Much obliged, my dear Kitty; but for the intention only—for the
information, you must agree, is not likely to be at all agreeable.”
“That is to say, you don’t believe what I have told you; is it not so?”
“We have always some difficulty in believing such things, my pretty
dear, were it only from self-love.”
“Then you don’t believe me?”
“I confess that unless you deign to give me some proof of what you
advance—”
“What do you think of this?”
Kitty drew a little note from her bosom.
“For me?” said D’Artagnan, seizing the letter.
“No; for another.”
“For another?”
“Yes.”
“His name; his name!” cried D’Artagnan.
“Read the address.”
“Monsieur El Comte de Wardes.”
The remembrance of the scene at St. Germain presented itself to the
mind of the presumptuous Gascon. As quick as thought, he tore open the
letter, in spite of the cry which Kitty uttered on seeing what he was
going to do, or rather, what he was doing.
“Oh, good Lord, Monsieur Chevalier,” said she, “what are you doing?”
“I?” said D’Artagnan; “nothing,” and he read,
“You have not answered my first note. Are you indisposed, or have you
forgotten the glances you favored me with at the ball of Mme. de Guise?
You have an opportunity now, Count; do not allow it to escape.”
D’Artagnan became very pale; he was wounded in his _self_-love: he
thought that it was in his _love_.
“Poor dear Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said Kitty, in a voice full of
compassion, and pressing anew the young man’s hand.
“You pity me, little one?” said D’Artagnan.
“Oh, yes, and with all my heart; for I know what it is to be in love.”
“You know what it is to be in love?” said D’Artagnan, looking at her
for the first time with much attention.
“Alas, yes.”
“Well, then, instead of pitying me, you would do much better to assist
me in avenging myself on your mistress.”
“And what sort of revenge would you take?”
“I would triumph over her, and supplant my rival.”
“I will never help you in that, Monsieur Chevalier,” said Kitty,
warmly.
“And why not?” demanded D’Artagnan.
“For two reasons.”
“What ones?”
“The first is that my mistress will never love you.”
“How do you know that?”
“You have cut her to the heart.”
“I? In what can I have offended her—I who ever since I have known her
have lived at her feet like a slave? Speak, I beg you!”
“I will never confess that but to the man—who should read to the bottom
of my soul!”
D’Artagnan looked at Kitty for the second time. The young girl had
freshness and beauty which many duchesses would have purchased with
their coronets.
“Kitty,” said he, “I will read to the bottom of your soul whenever you
like; don’t let that disturb you.” And he gave her a kiss at which the
poor girl became as red as a cherry.
“Oh, no,” said Kitty, “it is not me you love! It is my mistress you
love; you told me so just now.”
“And does that hinder you from letting me know the second reason?”
“The second reason, Monsieur the Chevalier,” replied Kitty, emboldened
by the kiss in the first place, and still further by the expression of
the eyes of the young man, “is that in love, everyone for herself!”
Then only D’Artagnan remembered the languishing glances of Kitty, her
constantly meeting him in the antechamber, the corridor, or on the
stairs, those touches of the hand every time she met him, and her deep
sighs; but absorbed by his desire to please the great lady, he had
disdained the _soubrette_. He whose game is the eagle takes no heed of
the sparrow.
But this time our Gascon saw at a glance all the advantage to be
derived from the love which Kitty had just confessed so innocently, or
so boldly: the interception of letters addressed to the Comte de
Wardes, news on the spot, entrance at all hours into Kitty’s chamber,
which was contiguous to her mistress’s. The perfidious deceiver was, as
may plainly be perceived, already sacrificing, in intention, the poor
girl in order to obtain Milady, willy-nilly.
“Well,” said he to the young girl, “are you willing, my dear Kitty,
that I should give you a proof of that love which you doubt?”
“What love?” asked the young girl.
“Of that which I am ready to feel toward you.”
“And what is that proof?”
“Are you willing that I should this evening pass with you the time I
generally spend with your mistress?”
“Oh, yes,” said Kitty, clapping her hands, “very willing.”
“Well, then, come here, my dear,” said D’Artagnan, establishing himself
in an easy chair; “come, and let me tell you that you are the prettiest
_soubrette_ I ever saw!”
And he did tell her so much, and so well, that the poor girl, who asked
nothing better than to believe him, did believe him. Nevertheless, to
D’Artagnan’s great astonishment, the pretty Kitty defended herself
resolutely.
Time passes quickly when it is passed in attacks and defenses. Midnight
sounded, and almost at the same time the bell was rung in Milady’s
chamber.
“Good God,” cried Kitty, “there is my mistress calling me! Go; go
directly!”
D’Artagnan rose, took his hat, as if it had been his intention to obey,
then, opening quickly the door of a large closet instead of that
leading to the staircase, he buried himself amid the robes and dressing
gowns of Milady.
“What are you doing?” cried Kitty.
D’Artagnan, who had secured the key, shut himself up in the closet
without reply.
“Well,” cried Milady, in a sharp voice. “Are you asleep, that you don’t
answer when I ring?”
And D’Artagnan heard the door of communication opened violently.
“Here am I, Milady, here am I!” cried Kitty, springing forward to meet
her mistress.
Both went into the bedroom, and as the door of communication remained
open, D’Artagnan could hear Milady for some time scolding her maid. She
was at length appeased, and the conversation turned upon him while
Kitty was assisting her mistress.
“Well,” said Milady, “I have not seen our Gascon this evening.”
“What, Milady! has he not come?” said Kitty. “Can he be inconstant
before being happy?”
“Oh, no; he must have been prevented by Monsieur de Tréville or
Monsieur Dessessart. I understand my game, Kitty; I have this one
safe.”
“What will you do with him, madame?”
“What will I do with him? Be easy, Kitty, there is something between
that man and me that he is quite ignorant of: he nearly made me lose my
credit with his Eminence. Oh, I will be revenged!”
“I believed that Madame loved him.”
“I love him? I detest him! An idiot, who held the life of Lord de
Winter in his hands and did not kill him, by which I missed three
hundred thousand livres’ income.”
“That’s true,” said Kitty; “your son was the only heir of his uncle,
and until his majority you would have had the enjoyment of his
fortune.”
D’Artagnan shuddered to the marrow at hearing this suave creature
reproach him, with that sharp voice which she took such pains to
conceal in conversation, for not having killed a man whom he had seen
load her with kindnesses.
“For all this,” continued Milady, “I should long ago have revenged
myself on him if, and I don’t know why, the cardinal had not requested
me to conciliate him.”
“Oh, yes; but Madame has not conciliated that little woman he was so
fond of.”
“What, the mercer’s wife of the Rue des Fossoyeurs? Has he not already
forgotten she ever existed? Fine vengeance that, on my faith!”
A cold sweat broke from D’Artagnan’s brow. Why, this woman was a
monster! He resumed his listening, but unfortunately the toilet was
finished.
“That will do,” said Milady; “go into your own room, and tomorrow
endeavor again to get me an answer to the letter I gave you.”
“For Monsieur de Wardes?” said Kitty.
“To be sure; for Monsieur de Wardes.”
“Now, there is one,” said Kitty, “who appears to me quite a different
sort of a man from that poor Monsieur d’Artagnan.”
“Go to bed, mademoiselle,” said Milady; “I don’t like comments.”
D’Artagnan heard the door close; then the noise of two bolts by which
Milady fastened herself in. On her side, but as softly as possible,
Kitty turned the key of the lock, and then D’Artagnan opened the closet
door.
“Oh, good Lord!” said Kitty, in a low voice, “what is the matter with
you? How pale you are!”
“The abominable creature,” murmured D’Artagnan.
“Silence, silence, begone!” said Kitty. “There is nothing but a
wainscot between my chamber and Milady’s; every word that is uttered in
one can be heard in the other.”
“That’s exactly the reason I won’t go,” said D’Artagnan.
“What!” said Kitty, blushing.
“Or, at least, I will go—later.”
He drew Kitty to him. She had the less motive to resist, resistance
would make so much noise. Therefore Kitty surrendered.
It was a movement of vengeance upon Milady. D’Artagnan believed it
right to say that vengeance is the pleasure of the gods. With a little
more heart, he might have been contented with this new conquest; but
the principal features of his character were ambition and pride. It
must, however, be confessed in his justification that the first use he