The three musketeers
“Lord de Winter died without revealing anything to his brother. The
terrible secret was to be concealed till it burst, like a clap of
thunder, over the head of the guilty. Your protector had seen with pain
this marriage of his elder brother with a portionless girl. I was
sensible that I could look for no support from a man disappointed in
his hopes of an inheritance. I went to France, with a determination to
remain there for the rest of my life. But all my fortune is in England.
Communication being closed by the war, I was in want of everything. I
was then obliged to come back again. Six days ago, I landed at
Portsmouth.”
“Well?” said Felton.
“Well; Buckingham heard by some means, no doubt, of my return. He spoke
of me to Lord de Winter, already prejudiced against me, and told him
that his sister-in-law was a prostitute, a branded woman. The noble and
pure voice of my husband was no longer here to defend me. Lord de
Winter believed all that was told him with so much the more ease that
it was his interest to believe it. He caused me to be arrested, had me
conducted hither, and placed me under your guard. You know the rest.
The day after tomorrow he banishes me, he transports me; the day after
tomorrow he exiles me among the infamous. Oh, the train is well laid;
the plot is clever. My honor will not survive it! You see, then,
Felton, I can do nothing but die. Felton, give me that knife!”
And at these words, as if all her strength was exhausted, Milady sank,
weak and languishing, into the arms of the young officer, who,
intoxicated with love, anger, and voluptuous sensations hitherto
unknown, received her with transport, pressed her against his heart,
all trembling at the breath from that charming mouth, bewildered by the
contact with that palpitating bosom.
“No, no,” said he. “No, you shall live honored and pure; you shall live
to triumph over your enemies.”
Milady put him from her slowly with her hand, while drawing him nearer
with her look; but Felton, in his turn, embraced her more closely,
imploring her like a divinity.
“Oh, death, death!” said she, lowering her voice and her eyelids, “oh,
death, rather than shame! Felton, my brother, my friend, I conjure
you!”
“No,” cried Felton, “no; you shall live and you shall be avenged.”
“Felton, I bring misfortune to all who surround me! Felton, abandon me!
Felton, let me die!”
“Well, then, we will live and die together!” cried he, pressing his
lips to those of the prisoner.
Several strokes resounded on the door; this time Milady really pushed
him away from her.
“Hark,” said she, “we have been overheard! Someone is coming! All is
over! We are lost!”
“No,” said Felton; it is only the sentinel warning me that they are
about to change the guard.”
“Then run to the door, and open it yourself.”
Felton obeyed; this woman was now his whole thought, his whole soul.
He found himself face to face with a sergeant commanding a
watch-patrol.
“Well, what is the matter?” asked the young lieutenant.
“You told me to open the door if I heard anyone cry out,” said the
soldier; “but you forgot to leave me the key. I heard you cry out,
without understanding what you said. I tried to open the door, but it
was locked inside; then I called the sergeant.”
“And here I am,” said the sergeant.
Felton, quite bewildered, almost mad, stood speechless.
Milady plainly perceived that it was now her turn to take part in the
scene. She ran to the table, and seizing the knife which Felton had
laid down, exclaimed, “And by what right will you prevent me from
dying?”
“Great God!” exclaimed Felton, on seeing the knife glitter in her hand.
At that moment a burst of ironical laughter resounded through the
corridor. The baron, attracted by the noise, in his chamber gown, his
sword under his arm, stood in the doorway.
“Ah,” said he, “here we are, at the last act of the tragedy. You see,
Felton, the drama has gone through all the phases I named; but be easy,
no blood will flow.”
Milady perceived that all was lost unless she gave Felton an immediate
and terrible proof of her courage.
“You are mistaken, my Lord, blood will flow; and may that blood fall
back on those who cause it to flow!”
Felton uttered a cry, and rushed toward her. He was too late; Milady
had stabbed herself.
But the knife had fortunately, we ought to say skillfully, come in
contact with the steel busk, which at that period, like a cuirass,
defended the chests of women. It had glided down it, tearing the robe,
and had penetrated slantingly between the flesh and the ribs. Milady’s
robe was not the less stained with blood in a second.
Milady fell down, and seemed to be in a swoon.
Felton snatched away the knife.
“See, my Lord,” said he, in a deep, gloomy tone, “here is a woman who
was under my guard, and who has killed herself!”
“Be at ease, Felton,” said Lord de Winter. “She is not dead; demons do
not die so easily. Be tranquil, and go wait for me in my chamber.”
“But, my Lord—”
“Go, sir, I command you!”
At this injunction from his superior, Felton obeyed; but in going out,
he put the knife into his bosom.
As to Lord de Winter, he contented himself with calling the woman who
waited on Milady, and when she was come, he recommended the prisoner,
who was still fainting, to her care, and left them alone.
Meanwhile, all things considered and notwithstanding his suspicions, as
the wound might be serious, he immediately sent off a mounted man to
find a physician.
Chapter LVIII.
ESCAPE
As Lord de Winter had thought, Milady’s wound was not dangerous. So
soon as she was left alone with the woman whom the baron had summoned
to her assistance she opened her eyes.
It was, however, necessary to affect weakness and pain—not a very
difficult task for so finished an actress as Milady. Thus the poor
woman was completely the dupe of the prisoner, whom, notwithstanding
her hints, she persisted in watching all night.
But the presence of this woman did not prevent Milady from thinking.
There was no longer a doubt that Felton was convinced; Felton was hers.
If an angel appeared to that young man as an accuser of Milady, he
would take him, in the mental disposition in which he now found
himself, for a messenger sent by the devil.
Milady smiled at this thought, for Felton was now her only hope—her
only means of safety.
But Lord de Winter might suspect him; Felton himself might now be
watched!
Toward four o’clock in the morning the doctor arrived; but since the
time Milady stabbed herself, however short, the wound had closed. The
doctor could therefore measure neither the direction nor the depth of
it; he only satisfied himself by Milady’s pulse that the case was not
serious.
In the morning Milady, under the pretext that she had not slept well in
the night and wanted rest, sent away the woman who attended her.
She had one hope, which was that Felton would appear at the breakfast
hour; but Felton did not come.
Were her fears realized? Was Felton, suspected by the baron, about to
fail her at the decisive moment? She had only one day left. Lord de
Winter had announced her embarkation for the twenty-third, and it was
now the morning of the twenty-second.
Nevertheless she still waited patiently till the hour for dinner.
Although she had eaten nothing in the morning, the dinner was brought
in at its usual time. Milady then perceived, with terror, that the
uniform of the soldiers who guarded her was changed.
Then she ventured to ask what had become of Felton.
She was told that he had left the castle an hour before on horseback.
She inquired if the baron was still at the castle. The soldier replied
that he was, and that he had given orders to be informed if the
prisoner wished to speak to him.
Milady replied that she was too weak at present, and that her only
desire was to be left alone.
The soldier went out, leaving the dinner served.
Felton was sent away. The marines were removed. Felton was then
mistrusted.
This was the last blow to the prisoner.
Left alone, she arose. The bed, which she had kept from prudence and
that they might believe her seriously wounded, burned her like a bed of
fire. She cast a glance at the door; the baron had had a plank nailed
over the grating. He no doubt feared that by this opening she might
still by some diabolical means corrupt her guards.
Milady smiled with joy. She was free now to give way to her transports
without being observed. She traversed her chamber with the excitement
of a furious maniac or of a tigress shut up in an iron cage. _Certes_,
if the knife had been left in her power, she would now have thought,
not of killing herself, but of killing the baron.
At six o’clock Lord de Winter came in. He was armed at all points. This
man, in whom Milady till that time had only seen a very simple
gentleman, had become an admirable jailer. He appeared to foresee all,
to divine all, to anticipate all.
A single look at Milady apprised him of all that was passing in her
mind.
“Ay!” said he, “I see; but you shall not kill me today. You have no
longer a weapon; and besides, I am on my guard. You had begun to
pervert my poor Felton. He was yielding to your infernal influence; but
I will save him. He will never see you again; all is over. Get your
clothes together. Tomorrow you will go. I had fixed the embarkation for
the twenty-fourth; but I have reflected that the more promptly the
affair takes place the more sure it will be. Tomorrow, by twelve
o’clock, I shall have the order for your exile, signed, _Buckingham_.
If you speak a single word to anyone before going aboard ship, my
sergeant will blow your brains out. He has orders to do so. If when on
the ship you speak a single word to anyone before the captain permits
you, the captain will have you thrown into the sea. That is agreed
upon.
“_Au revoir_, then; that is all I have to say today. Tomorrow I will
see you again, to take my leave.” With these words the baron went out.
Milady had listened to all this menacing tirade with a smile of disdain
on her lips, but rage in her heart.
Supper was served. Milady felt that she stood in need of all her
strength. She did not know what might take place during this night
which approached so menacingly—for large masses of cloud rolled over
the face of the sky, and distant lightning announced a storm.
The storm broke about ten o’clock. Milady felt a consolation in seeing
nature partake of the disorder of her heart. The thunder growled in the
air like the passion and anger in her thoughts. It appeared to her that
the blast as it swept along disheveled her brow, as it bowed the
branches of the trees and bore away their leaves. She howled as the
hurricane howled; and her voice was lost in the great voice of nature,
which also seemed to groan with despair.
All at once she heard a tap at her window, and by the help of a flash
of lightning she saw the face of a man appear behind the bars.
She ran to the window and opened it.
“Felton!” cried she. “I am saved.”
“Yes,” said Felton; “but silence, silence! I must have time to file
through these bars. Only take care that I am not seen through the
wicket.”
“Oh, it is a proof that the Lord is on our side, Felton,” replied
Milady. “They have closed up the grating with a board.”
“That is well; God has made them senseless,” said Felton.
“But what must I do?” asked Milady.
“Nothing, nothing, only shut the window. Go to bed, or at least lie
down in your clothes. As soon as I have done I will knock on one of the
panes of glass. But will you be able to follow me?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Your wound?”
“Gives me pain, but will not prevent my walking.”
“Be ready, then, at the first signal.”