The three musketeers
the introduction into the lock of a key which the young man carried
with him, turned heavily upon its hinges, and disclosed the chamber
destined for Milady.
With a single glance the prisoner took in the apartment in its minutest
details. It was a chamber whose furniture was at once appropriate for a
prisoner or a free man; and yet bars at the windows and outside bolts
at the door decided the question in favor of the prison.
In an instant all the strength of mind of this creature, though drawn
from the most vigorous sources, abandoned her; she sank into a large
easy chair, with her arms crossed, her head lowered, and expecting
every instant to see a judge enter to interrogate her.
But no one entered except two or three marines, who brought her trunks
and packages, deposited them in a corner, and retired without speaking.
The officer superintended all these details with the same calmness
Milady had constantly seen in him, never pronouncing a word himself,
and making himself obeyed by a gesture of his hand or a sound of his
whistle.
It might have been said that between this man and his inferiors spoken
language did not exist, or had become useless.
At length Milady could hold out no longer; she broke the silence. “In
the name of heaven, sir,” cried she, “what means all that is passing?
Put an end to my doubts; I have courage enough for any danger I can
foresee, for every misfortune which I understand. Where am I, and why
am I here? If I am free, why these bars and these doors? If I am a
prisoner, what crime have I committed?”
“You are here in the apartment destined for you, madame. I received
orders to go and take charge of you on the sea, and to conduct you to
this castle. This order I believe I have accomplished with all the
exactness of a soldier, but also with the courtesy of a gentleman.
There terminates, at least to the present moment, the duty I had to
fulfill toward you; the rest concerns another person.”
“And who is that other person?” asked Milady, warmly. “Can you not tell
me his name?”
At the moment a great jingling of spurs was heard on the stairs. Some
voices passed and faded away, and the sound of a single footstep
approached the door.
“That person is here, madame,” said the officer, leaving the entrance
open, and drawing himself up in an attitude of respect.
At the same time the door opened; a man appeared on the threshold. He
was without a hat, carried a sword, and flourished a handkerchief in
his hand.
Milady thought she recognized this shadow in the gloom; she supported
herself with one hand upon the arm of the chair, and advanced her head
as if to meet a certainty.
The stranger advanced slowly, and as he advanced, after entering into
the circle of light projected by the lamp, Milady involuntarily drew
back.
Then when she had no longer any doubt, she cried, in a state of stupor,
“What, my brother, is it you?”
“Yes, fair lady!” replied Lord de Winter, making a bow, half courteous,
half ironical; “it is I, myself.”
“But this castle, then?”
“Is mine.”
“This chamber?”
“Is yours.”
“I am, then, your prisoner?”
“Nearly so.”
“But this is a frightful abuse of power!”
“No high-sounding words! Let us sit down and chat quietly, as brother
and sister ought to do.”
Then, turning toward the door, and seeing that the young officer was
waiting for his last orders, he said. “All is well, I thank you; now
leave us alone, Mr. Felton.”
Chapter L.
CHAT BETWEEN BROTHER AND SISTER
During the time which Lord de Winter took to shut the door, close a
shutter, and draw a chair near to his sister-in-law’s _fauteuil_,
Milady, anxiously thoughtful, plunged her glance into the depths of
possibility, and discovered all the plan, of which she could not even
obtain a glance as long as she was ignorant into whose hands she had
fallen. She knew her brother-in-law to be a worthy gentleman, a bold
hunter, an intrepid player, enterprising with women, but by no means
remarkable for his skill in intrigues. How had he discovered her
arrival, and caused her to be seized? Why did he detain her?
Athos had dropped some words which proved that the conversation she had
with the cardinal had fallen into outside ears; but she could not
suppose that he had dug a countermine so promptly and so boldly. She
rather feared that her preceding operations in England might have been
discovered. Buckingham might have guessed that it was she who had cut
off the two studs, and avenge himself for that little treachery; but
Buckingham was incapable of going to any excess against a woman,
particularly if that woman was supposed to have acted from a feeling of
jealousy.
This supposition appeared to her most reasonable. It seemed to her that
they wanted to revenge the past, and not to anticipate the future. At
all events, she congratulated herself upon having fallen into the hands
of her brother-in-law, with whom she reckoned she could deal very
easily, rather than into the hands of an acknowledged and intelligent
enemy.
“Yes, let us chat, brother,” said she, with a kind of cheerfulness,
decided as she was to draw from the conversation, in spite of all the
dissimulation Lord de Winter could bring, the revelations of which she
stood in need to regulate her future conduct.
“You have, then, decided to come to England again,” said Lord de
Winter, “in spite of the resolutions you so often expressed in Paris
never to set your feet on British ground?”
Milady replied to this question by another question. “To begin with,
tell me,” said she, “how have you watched me so closely as to be aware
beforehand not only of my arrival, but even of the day, the hour, and
the port at which I should arrive?”
Lord de Winter adopted the same tactics as Milady, thinking that as his
sister-in-law employed them they must be the best.
“But tell me, my dear sister,” replied he, “what makes you come to
England?”
“I come to see you,” replied Milady, without knowing how much she
aggravated by this reply the suspicions to which D’Artagnan’s letter
had given birth in the mind of her brother-in-law, and only desiring to
gain the good will of her auditor by a falsehood.
“Ah, to see me?” said de Winter, cunningly.
“To be sure, to see you. What is there astonishing in that?”
“And you had no other object in coming to England but to see me?”
“No.”
“So it was for me alone you have taken the trouble to cross the
Channel?”
“For you alone.”
“The deuce! What tenderness, my sister!”
“But am I not your nearest relative?” demanded Milady, with a tone of
the most touching ingenuousness.
“And my only heir, are you not?” said Lord de Winter in his turn,
fixing his eyes on those of Milady.
Whatever command she had over herself, Milady could not help starting;
and as in pronouncing the last words Lord de Winter placed his hand
upon the arm of his sister, this start did not escape him.
In fact, the blow was direct and severe. The first idea that occurred
to Milady’s mind was that she had been betrayed by Kitty, and that she
had recounted to the baron the selfish aversion toward himself of which
she had imprudently allowed some marks to escape before her servant.
She also recollected the furious and imprudent attack she had made upon
D’Artagnan when he spared the life of her brother.
“I do not understand, my Lord,” said she, in order to gain time and
make her adversary speak out. “What do you mean to say? Is there any
secret meaning concealed beneath your words?”
“Oh, my God, no!” said Lord de Winter, with apparent good nature. “You
wish to see me, and you come to England. I learn this desire, or rather
I suspect that you feel it; and in order to spare you all the
annoyances of a nocturnal arrival in a port and all the fatigues of
landing, I send one of my officers to meet you, I place a carriage at
his orders, and he brings you hither to this castle, of which I am
governor, whither I come every day, and where, in order to satisfy our
mutual desire of seeing each other, I have prepared you a chamber. What
is there more astonishing in all that I have said to you than in what
you have told me?”
“No; what I think astonishing is that you should expect my coming.”
“And yet that is the most simple thing in the world, my dear sister.
Have you not observed that the captain of your little vessel, on
entering the roadstead, sent forward, in order to obtain permission to
enter the port, a little boat bearing his logbook and the register of
his voyagers? I am commandant of the port. They brought me that book. I
recognized your name in it. My heart told me what your mouth has just
confirmed—that is to say, with what view you have exposed yourself to
the dangers of a sea so perilous, or at least so troublesome at this
moment—and I sent my cutter to meet you. You know the rest.”
Milady knew that Lord de Winter lied, and she was the more alarmed.
“My brother,” continued she, “was not that my Lord Buckingham whom I
saw on the jetty this evening as we arrived?”
“Himself. Ah, I can understand how the sight of him struck you,”
replied Lord de Winter. “You came from a country where he must be very
much talked of, and I know that his armaments against France greatly
engage the attention of your friend the cardinal.”
“My friend the cardinal!” cried Milady, seeing that on this point as on
the other Lord de Winter seemed well instructed.
“Is he not your friend?” replied the baron, negligently. “Ah, pardon! I
thought so; but we will return to my Lord Duke presently. Let us not
depart from the sentimental turn our conversation had taken. You came,
you say, to see me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I reply that you shall be served to the height of your wishes,
and that we shall see each other every day.”
“Am I, then, to remain here eternally?” demanded Milady, with a certain
terror.
“Do you find yourself badly lodged, sister? Demand anything you want,
and I will hasten to have you furnished with it.”
“But I have neither my women nor my servants.”
“You shall have all, madame. Tell me on what footing your household was
established by your first husband, and although I am only your
brother-in-law, I will arrange one similar.”
“My first husband!” cried Milady, looking at Lord de Winter with eyes
almost starting from their sockets.
“Yes, your French husband. I don’t speak of my brother. If you have
forgotten, as he is still living, I can write to him and he will send
me information on the subject.”
A cold sweat burst from the brow of Milady.
“You jest!” said she, in a hollow voice.
“Do I look so?” asked the baron, rising and going a step backward.
“Or rather you insult me,” continued she, pressing with her stiffened
hands the two arms of her easy chair, and raising herself upon her
wrists.
“I insult you!” said Lord de Winter, with contempt. “In truth, madame,
do you think that can be possible?”
“Indeed, sir,” said Milady, “you must be either drunk or mad. Leave the
room, and send me a woman.”
“Women are very indiscreet, my sister. Cannot I serve you as a waiting
maid? By that means all our secrets will remain in the family.”
“Insolent!” cried Milady; and as if acted upon by a spring, she bounded
toward the baron, who awaited her attack with his arms crossed, but
nevertheless with one hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Come!” said he. “I know you are accustomed to assassinate people; but
I warn you I shall defend myself, even against you.”
“You are right,” said Milady. “You have all the appearance of being
cowardly enough to lift your hand against a woman.”
“Perhaps so; and I have an excuse, for mine would not be the first hand
of a man that has been placed upon you, I imagine.”
And the baron pointed, with a slow and accusing gesture, to the left