Les trois mousquetaires. English

by Alexandre Dumas

  53 CAPTIVITY: THE SECOND DAY

  Milady dreamed that she at length had d'Artagnan in her power, that shewas present at his execution; and it was the sight of his odious blood,flowing beneath the ax of the headsman, which spread that charming smileupon her lips.

  She slept as a prisoner sleeps, rocked by his first hope.

  In the morning, when they entered her chamber she was still in bed.Felton remained in the corridor. He brought with him the woman of whomhe had spoken the evening before, and who had just arrived; this womanentered, and approaching Milady's bed, offered her services.

  Milady was habitually pale; her complexion might therefore deceive aperson who saw her for the first time.

  "I am in a fever," said she; "I have not slept a single instant duringall this long night. I suffer horribly. Are you likely to be more humaneto me than others were yesterday? All I ask is permission to remainabed."

  "Would you like to have a physician called?" said the woman.

  Felton listened to this dialogue without speaking a word.

  Milady reflected that the more people she had around her the more shewould have to work upon, and Lord de Winter would redouble his watch.Besides, the physician might declare the ailment feigned; and Milady,after having lost the first trick, was not willing to lose the second.

  "Go and fetch a physician?" said she. "What could be the good of that?These gentlemen declared yesterday that my illness was a comedy; itwould be just the same today, no doubt--for since yesterday evening theyhave had plenty of time to send for a doctor."

  "Then," said Felton, who became impatient, "say yourself, madame, whattreatment you wish followed."

  "Eh, how can I tell? My God! I know that I suffer, that's all. Give meanything you like, it is of little consequence."

  "Go and fetch Lord de Winter," said Felton, tired of these eternalcomplaints.

  "Oh, no, no!" cried Milady; "no, sir, do not call him, I conjure you. Iam well, I want nothing; do not call him."

  She gave so much vehemence, such magnetic eloquence to this exclamation,that Felton in spite of himself advanced some steps into the room.

  "He has come!" thought Milady.

  "Meanwhile, madame, if you really suffer," said Felton, "a physicianshall be sent for; and if you deceive us--well, it will be the worse foryou. But at least we shall not have to reproach ourselves withanything."

  Milady made no reply, but turning her beautiful head round upon herpillow, she burst into tears, and uttered heartbreaking sobs.

  Felton surveyed her for an instant with his usual impassiveness; then,seeing that the crisis threatened to be prolonged, he went out. Thewoman followed him, and Lord de Winter did not appear.

  "I fancy I begin to see my way," murmured Milady, with a savage joy,burying herself under the clothes to conceal from anybody who might bewatching her this burst of inward satisfaction.

  Two hours passed away.

  "Now it is time that the malady should be over," said she; "let me rise,and obtain some success this very day. I have but ten days, and thisevening two of them will be gone."

  In the morning, when they entered Milady's chamber they had brought herbreakfast. Now, she thought, they could not long delay coming to clearthe table, and that Felton would then reappear.

  Milady was not deceived. Felton reappeared, and without observingwhether Milady had or had not touched her repast, made a sign that thetable should be carried out of the room, it having been brought in readyspread.

  Felton remained behind; he held a book in his hand.

  Milady, reclining in an armchair near the chimney, beautiful, pale, andresigned, looked like a holy virgin awaiting martyrdom.

  Felton approached her, and said, "Lord de Winter, who is a Catholic,like yourself, madame, thinking that the deprivation of the rites andceremonies of your church might be painful to you, has consented thatyou should read every day the ordinary of your Mass; and here is a bookwhich contains the ritual."

  At the manner in which Felton laid the book upon the little table nearwhich Milady was sitting, at the tone in which he pronounced the twowords, YOUR MASS, at the disdainful smile with which he accompaniedthem, Milady raised her head, and looked more attentively at theofficer.

  By that plain arrangement of the hair, by that costume of extremesimplicity, by the brow polished like marble and as hard andimpenetrable, she recognized one of those gloomy Puritans she had sooften met, not only in the court of King James, but in that of the Kingof France, where, in spite of the remembrance of the St. Bartholomew,they sometimes came to seek refuge.

  She then had one of those sudden inspirations which only people ofgenius receive in great crises, in supreme moments which are to decidetheir fortunes or their lives.

  Those two words, YOUR MASS, and a simple glance cast upon Felton,revealed to her all the importance of the reply she was about to make;but with that rapidity of intelligence which was peculiar to her, thisreply, ready arranged, presented itself to her lips:

  "I?" said she, with an accent of disdain in unison with that which shehad remarked in the voice of the young officer, "I, sir? MY MASS? Lordde Winter, the corrupted Catholic, knows very well that I am not of hisreligion, and this is a snare he wishes to lay for me!"

  "And of what religion are you, then, madame?" asked Felton, with anastonishment which in spite of the empire he held over himself he couldnot entirely conceal.

  "I will tell it," cried Milady, with a feigned exultation, "on the daywhen I shall have suffered sufficiently for my faith."

  The look of Felton revealed to Milady the full extent of the space shehad opened for herself by this single word.

  The young officer, however, remained mute and motionless; his look alonehad spoken.

  "I am in the hands of my enemies," continued she, with that tone ofenthusiasm which she knew was familiar to the Puritans. "Well, let myGod save me, or let me perish for my God! That is the reply I beg you tomake to Lord de Winter. And as to this book," added she, pointing to themanual with her finger but without touching it, as if she must becontaminated by it, "you may carry it back and make use of it yourself,for doubtless you are doubly the accomplice of Lord de Winter--theaccomplice in his persecutions, the accomplice in his heresies."

  Felton made no reply, took the book with the same appearance ofrepugnance which he had before manifested, and retired pensively.

  Lord de Winter came toward five o'clock in the evening. Milady had hadtime, during the whole day, to trace her plan of conduct. She receivedhim like a woman who had already recovered all her advantages.

  "It appears," said the baron, seating himself in the armchair oppositethat occupied by Milady, and stretching out his legs carelessly upon thehearth, "it appears we have made a little apostasy!"

  "What do you mean, sir!"

  "I mean to say that since we last met you have changed your religion.You have not by chance married a Protestant for a third husband, haveyou?"

  "Explain yourself, my Lord," replied the prisoner, with majesty; "forthough I hear your words, I declare I do not understand them."

  "Then you have no religion at all; I like that best," replied Lord deWinter, laughing.

  "Certainly that is most in accord with your own principles," repliedMilady, frigidly.

  "Oh, I confess it is all the same to me."

  "Oh, you need not avow this religious indifference, my Lord; yourdebaucheries and crimes would vouch for it."

  "What, you talk of debaucheries, Madame Messalina, Lady Macbeth! EitherI misunderstand you or you are very shameless!"

  "You only speak thus because you are overheard," coolly replied Milady;"and you wish to interest your jailers and your hangmen against me."

  "My jailers and my hangmen! Heyday, madame! you are taking a poeticaltone, and the comedy of yesterday turns to a tragedy this evening. As tothe rest, in eight days you will be where you ought to be, and my taskwill be completed."

  "Infamous task! impious task!" cried Milady, with the exultation of avi
ctim who provokes his judge.

  "My word," said de Winter, rising, "I think the hussy is going mad!Come, come, calm yourself, Madame Puritan, or I'll remove you to adungeon. It's my Spanish wine that has got into your head, is it not?But never mind; that sort of intoxication is not dangerous, and willhave no bad effects."

  And Lord de Winter retired swearing, which at that period was a veryknightly habit.

  Felton was indeed behind the door, and had not lost one word of thisscene. Milady had guessed aright.

  "Yes, go, go!" said she to her brother; "the effects ARE drawing near,on the contrary; but you, weak fool, will not see them until it is toolate to shun them."

  Silence was re-established. Two hours passed away. Milady's supper wasbrought in, and she was found deeply engaged in saying her prayersaloud--prayers which she had learned of an old servant of her secondhusband, a most austere Puritan. She appeared to be in ecstasy, and didnot pay the least attention to what was going on around her. Felton madea sign that she should not be disturbed; and when all was arranged, hewent out quietly with the soldiers.

  Milady knew she might be watched, so she continued her prayers to theend; and it appeared to her that the soldier who was on duty at her doordid not march with the same step, and seemed to listen. For the momentshe wished nothing better. She arose, came to the table, ate but little,and drank only water.

  An hour after, her table was cleared; but Milady remarked that this timeFelton did not accompany the soldiers. He feared, then, to see her toooften.

  She turned toward the wall to smile--for there was in this smile such anexpression of triumph that this smile alone would have betrayed her.

  She allowed, therefore, half an hour to pass away; and as at that momentall was silence in the old castle, as nothing was heard but the eternalmurmur of the waves--that immense breaking of the ocean--with her pure,harmonious, and powerful voice, she began the first couplet of the psalmthen in great favor with the Puritans:

  "Thou leavest thy servants, Lord, To see if they be strong; But soonthou dost afford Thy hand to lead them on."

  These verses were not excellent--very far from it; but as it is wellknown, the Puritans did not pique themselves upon their poetry.

  While singing, Milady listened. The soldier on guard at her doorstopped, as if he had been changed into stone. Milady was then able tojudge of the effect she had produced.

  Then she continued her singing with inexpressible fervor and feeling. Itappeared to her that the sounds spread to a distance beneath the vaultedroofs, and carried with them a magic charm to soften the hearts of herjailers. It however likewise appeared that the soldier on duty--azealous Catholic, no doubt--shook off the charm, for through the door hecalled: "Hold your tongue, madame! Your song is as dismal as a 'Deprofundis'; and if besides the pleasure of being in garrison here, wemust hear such things as these, no mortal can hold out."

  "Silence!" then exclaimed another stern voice which Milady recognized asthat of Felton. "What are you meddling with, stupid? Did anybody orderyou to prevent that woman from singing? No. You were told to guardher--to fire at her if she attempted to fly. Guard her! If she flies,kill her; but don't exceed your orders."

  An expression of unspeakable joy lightened the countenance of Milady;but this expression was fleeting as the reflection of lightning. Withoutappearing to have heard the dialogue, of which she had not lost a word,she began again, giving to her voice all the charm, all the power, allthe seduction the demon had bestowed upon it:

  "For all my tears, my cares, My exile, and my chains, I have my youth,my prayers, And God, who counts my pains."

  Her voice, of immense power and sublime expression, gave to the rude,unpolished poetry of these psalms a magic and an effect which the mostexalted Puritans rarely found in the songs of their brethren, and whichthey were forced to ornament with all the resources of theirimagination. Felton believed he heard the singing of the angel whoconsoled the three Hebrews in the furnace.

  Milady continued:

  "One day our doors will ope, With God come our desire; And if betraysthat hope, To death we can aspire."

  This verse, into which the terrible enchantress threw her whole soul,completed the trouble which had seized the heart of the young officer.He opened the door quickly; and Milady saw him appear, pale as usual,but with his eye inflamed and almost wild.

  "Why do you sing thus, and with such a voice?" said he.

  "Your pardon, sir," said Milady, with mildness. "I forgot that my songsare out of place in this castle. I have perhaps offended you in yourcreed; but it was without wishing to do so, I swear. Pardon me, then, afault which is perhaps great, but which certainly was involuntary."

  Milady was so beautiful at this moment, the religious ecstasy in whichshe appeared to be plunged gave such an expression to her countenance,that Felton was so dazzled that he fancied he beheld the angel whom hehad only just before heard.

  "Yes, yes," said he; "you disturb, you agitate the people who live inthe castle."

  The poor, senseless young man was not aware of the incoherence of hiswords, while Milady was reading with her lynx's eyes the very depths ofhis heart.

  "I will be silent, then," said Milady, casting down her eyes with allthe sweetness she could give to her voice, with all the resignation shecould impress upon her manner.

  "No, no, madame," said Felton, "only do not sing so loud, particularlyat night."

  And at these words Felton, feeling that he could not long maintain hisseverity toward his prisoner, rushed out of the room.

  "You have done right, Lieutenant," said the soldier. "Such songs disturbthe mind; and yet we become accustomed to them, her voice is sobeautiful."