The three musketeers
Pale and trembling, Milady repulsed D’Artagnan’s attempted embrace by a
violent blow on the chest, as she sprang out of bed.
It was almost broad daylight.
D’Artagnan detained her by her night dress of fine India linen, to
implore her pardon; but she, with a strong movement, tried to escape.
Then the cambric was torn from her beautiful shoulders; and on one of
those lovely shoulders, round and white, D’Artagnan recognized, with
inexpressible astonishment, the _fleur-de-lis_—that indelible mark
which the hand of the infamous executioner had imprinted.
“Great God!” cried D’Artagnan, loosing his hold of her dress, and
remaining mute, motionless, and frozen.
But Milady felt herself denounced even by his terror. He had doubtless
seen all. The young man now knew her secret, her terrible secret—the
secret she concealed even from her maid with such care, the secret of
which all the world was ignorant, except himself.
She turned upon him, no longer like a furious woman, but like a wounded
panther.
“Ah, wretch!” cried she, “you have basely betrayed me, and still more,
you have my secret! You shall die.”
And she flew to a little inlaid casket which stood upon the dressing
table, opened it with a feverish and trembling hand, drew from it a
small poniard, with a golden haft and a sharp thin blade, and then
threw herself with a bound upon D’Artagnan.
Although the young man was brave, as we know, he was terrified at that
wild countenance, those terribly dilated pupils, those pale cheeks, and
those bleeding lips. He recoiled to the other side of the room as he
would have done from a serpent which was crawling toward him, and his
sword coming in contact with his nervous hand, he drew it almost
unconsciously from the scabbard. But without taking any heed of the
sword, Milady endeavored to get near enough to him to stab him, and did
not stop till she felt the sharp point at her throat.
She then tried to seize the sword with her hands; but D’Artagnan kept
it free from her grasp, and presenting the point, sometimes at her
eyes, sometimes at her breast, compelled her to glide behind the
bedstead, while he aimed at making his retreat by the door which led to
Kitty’s apartment.
Milady during this time continued to strike at him with horrible fury,
screaming in a formidable way.
As all this, however, bore some resemblance to a duel, D’Artagnan began
to recover himself little by little.
“Well, beautiful lady, very well,” said he; “but, _pardieu_, if you
don’t calm yourself, I will design a second _fleur-de-lis_ upon one of
those pretty cheeks!”
“Scoundrel, infamous scoundrel!” howled Milady.
But D’Artagnan, still keeping on the defensive, drew near to Kitty’s
door. At the noise they made, she in overturning the furniture in her
efforts to get at him, he in screening himself behind the furniture to
keep out of her reach, Kitty opened the door. D’Artagnan, who had
unceasingly maneuvered to gain this point, was not at more than three
paces from it. With one spring he flew from the chamber of Milady into
that of the maid, and quick as lightning, he slammed to the door, and
placed all his weight against it, while Kitty pushed the bolts.
Then Milady attempted to tear down the doorcase, with a strength
apparently above that of a woman; but finding she could not accomplish
this, she in her fury stabbed at the door with her poniard, the point
of which repeatedly glittered through the wood. Every blow was
accompanied with terrible imprecations.
“Quick, Kitty, quick!” said D’Artagnan, in a low voice, as soon as the
bolts were fast, “let me get out of the hôtel; for if we leave her time
to turn round, she will have me killed by the servants.”
“But you can’t go out so,” said Kitty; “you are naked.”
“That’s true,” said D’Artagnan, then first thinking of the costume he
found himself in, “that’s true. But dress me as well as you are able,
only make haste; think, my dear girl, it’s life and death!”
Kitty was but too well aware of that. In a turn of the hand she muffled
him up in a flowered robe, a large hood, and a cloak. She gave him some
slippers, in which he placed his naked feet, and then conducted him
down the stairs. It was time. Milady had already rung her bell, and
roused the whole hôtel. The porter was drawing the cord at the moment
Milady cried from her window, “Don’t open!”
The young man fled while she was still threatening him with an impotent
gesture. The moment she lost sight of him, Milady tumbled fainting into
her chamber.
Chapter XXXVIII.
HOW, WITHOUT INCOMMDING HIMSELF, ATHOS PROCURES HIS EQUIPMENT
D’Artagnan was so completely bewildered that without taking any heed of
what might become of Kitty he ran at full speed across half Paris, and
did not stop till he came to Athos’s door. The confusion of his mind,
the terror which spurred him on, the cries of some of the patrol who
started in pursuit of him, and the hooting of the people who,
notwithstanding the early hour, were going to their work, only made him
precipitate his course.
He crossed the court, ran up the two flights to Athos’s apartment, and
knocked at the door enough to break it down.
Grimaud came, rubbing his half-open eyes, to answer this noisy summons,
and D’Artagnan sprang with such violence into the room as nearly to
overturn the astonished lackey.
In spite of his habitual silence, the poor lad this time found his
speech.
“Holloa, there!” cried he; “what do you want, you strumpet? What’s your
business here, you hussy?”
D’Artagnan threw off his hood, and disengaged his hands from the folds
of the cloak. At sight of the mustaches and the naked sword, the poor
devil perceived he had to deal with a man. He then concluded it must be
an assassin.
“Help! murder! help!” cried he.
“Hold your tongue, you stupid fellow!” said the young man; “I am
D’Artagnan; don’t you know me? Where is your master?”
“You, Monsieur d’Artagnan!” cried Grimaud, “impossible.”
“Grimaud,” said Athos, coming out of his apartment in a dressing gown,
“Grimaud, I thought I heard you permitting yourself to speak?”
“Ah, monsieur, it is—”
“Silence!”
Grimaud contented himself with pointing D’Artagnan out to his master
with his finger.
Athos recognized his comrade, and phlegmatic as he was, he burst into a
laugh which was quite excused by the strange masquerade before his
eyes—petticoats falling over his shoes, sleeves tucked up, and
mustaches stiff with agitation.
“Don’t laugh, my friend!” cried D’Artagnan; “for heaven’s sake, don’t
laugh, for upon my soul, it’s no laughing matter!”
And he pronounced these words with such a solemn air and with such a
real appearance of terror, that Athos eagerly seized his hand, crying,
“Are you wounded, my friend? How pale you are!”
“No, but I have just met with a terrible adventure! Are you alone,
Athos?”
“_Parbleu!_ whom do you expect to find with me at this hour?”
“Well, well!” and D’Artagnan rushed into Athos’s chamber.
“Come, speak!” said the latter, closing the door and bolting it, that
they might not be disturbed. “Is the king dead? Have you killed the
cardinal? You are quite upset! Come, come, tell me; I am dying with
curiosity and uneasiness!”
“Athos,” said D’Artagnan, getting rid of his female garments, and
appearing in his shirt, “prepare yourself to hear an incredible, an
unheard-of story.”
“Well, but put on this dressing gown first,” said the Musketeer to his
friend.
D’Artagnan donned the robe as quickly as he could, mistaking one sleeve
for the other, so greatly was he still agitated.
“Well?” said Athos.
“Well,” replied D’Artagnan, bending his mouth to Athos’s ear, and
lowering his voice, “Milady is marked with a _fleur-de-lis_ upon her
shoulder!”
“Ah!” cried the Musketeer, as if he had received a ball in his heart.
“Let us see,” said D’Artagnan. “Are you _sure_ that the _other_ is
dead?”
“_The other?_” said Athos, in so stifled a voice that D’Artagnan
scarcely heard him.
“Yes, she of whom you told me one day at Amiens.”
Athos uttered a groan, and let his head sink on his hands.
“This is a woman of twenty-six or twenty-eight years.”
“Fair,” said Athos, “is she not?”
“Very.”
“Blue and clear eyes, of a strange brilliancy, with black eyelids and
eyebrows?”
“Yes.”
“Tall, well-made? She has lost a tooth, next to the eyetooth on the
left?”
“Yes.”
“The _fleur-de-lis_ is small, rosy in color, and looks as if efforts
had been made to efface it by the application of poultices?”
“Yes.”
“But you say she is English?”
“She is called Milady, but she may be French. Lord de Winter is only
her brother-in-law.”
“I will see her, D’Artagnan!”
“Beware, Athos, beware. You tried to kill her; she is a woman to return
you the like, and not to fail.”
“She will not dare to say anything; that would be to denounce herself.”
“She is capable of anything or everything. Did you ever see her
furious?”
“No,” said Athos.
“A tigress, a panther! Ah, my dear Athos, I am greatly afraid I have
drawn a terrible vengeance on both of us!”
D’Artagnan then related all—the mad passion of Milady and her menaces
of death.
“You are right; and upon my soul, I would give my life for a hair,”
said Athos. “Fortunately, the day after tomorrow we leave Paris. We are
going according to all probability to La Rochelle, and once gone—”
“She will follow you to the end of the world, Athos, if she recognizes
you. Let her, then, exhaust her vengeance on me alone!”
“My dear friend, of what consequence is it if she kills me?” said
Athos. “Do you, perchance, think I set any great store by life?”
“There is something horribly mysterious under all this, Athos; this
woman is one of the cardinal’s spies, I am sure of that.”
“In that case, take care! If the cardinal does not hold you in high
admiration for the affair of London, he entertains a great hatred for
you; but as, considering everything, he cannot accuse you openly, and
as hatred must be satisfied, particularly when it’s a cardinal’s
hatred, take care of yourself. If you go out, do not go out alone; when
you eat, use every precaution. Mistrust everything, in short, even your
own shadow.”
“Fortunately,” said D’Artagnan, “all this will be only necessary till
after tomorrow evening, for when once with the army, we shall have, I
hope, only men to dread.”
“In the meantime,” said Athos, “I renounce my plan of seclusion, and
wherever you go, I will go with you. You must return to the Rue des
Fossoyeurs; I will accompany you.”
“But however near it may be,” replied D’Artagnan, “I cannot go thither
in this guise.”
“That’s true,” said Athos, and he rang the bell.
Grimaud entered.
Athos made him a sign to go to D’Artagnan’s residence, and bring back
some clothes. Grimaud replied by another sign that he understood
perfectly, and set off.
“All this will not advance your outfit,” said Athos; “for if I am not
mistaken, you have left the best of your apparel with Milady, and she
will certainly not have the politeness to return it to you.
Fortunately, you have the sapphire.”
“The jewel is yours, my dear Athos! Did you not tell me it was a family
jewel?”
“Yes, my grandfather gave two thousand crowns for it, as he once told
me. It formed part of the nuptial present he made his wife, and it is
magnificent. My mother gave it to me, and I, fool as I was, instead of
keeping the ring as a holy relic, gave it to this wretch.”
“Then, my friend, take back this ring, to which I see you attach much
value.”
“I take back the ring, after it has passed through the hands of that
infamous creature? Never; that ring is defiled, D’Artagnan.”
“Sell it, then.”
“Sell a jewel which came from my mother! I vow I should consider it a
profanation.”