The Three Musketeers

57 MEANS FOR CLASSICAL TRAGEDY

After a moment of silence employed by Milady in observing the young man who listened to her, Milady continued her recital.

“It was nearly three days since I had eaten or drunk anything. I suffered frightful torments. At times there passed before me clouds which pressed my brow, which veiled my eyes; this was delirium.

“When the evening came I was so weak that every time I fainted I thanked God, for I thought I was about to die.

“In the midst of one of these swoons I heard the door open. Terror recalled me to myself.

“He entered the apartment followed by a man in a mask. He was masked likewise; but I knew his step, I knew his voice, I knew him by that imposing bearing which hell has bestowed upon his person for the curse of humanity.

“‘Well,’ said he to me, ‘have you made your mind up to take the oath I requested of you?’

“‘You have said Puritans have but one word. Mine you have heard, and that is to pursue you-on earth to the tribunal of men, in heaven to the tribunal of God.’

“‘You persist, then?’

“‘I swear it before the God who hears me. I will take the whole world as a witness of your crime, and that until I have found an avenger.’

“‘You are a prostitute,’ said he, in a voice of thunder, ‘and you shall undergo the punishment of prostitutes! Branded in the eyes of the world you invoke, try to prove to that world that you are neither guilty nor mad!’

“Then, addressing the man who accompanied him, ‘Executioner,’ said he, ‘do your duty.’”

“Oh, his name, his name!” cried Felton. “His name, tell it me!”

“Then in spite of my cries, in spite of my resistance-for I began to comprehend that there was a question of something worse than death-the executioner seized me, threw me on the floor, fastened me with his bonds, and suffocated by sobs, almost without sense, invoking God, who did not listen to me, I uttered all at once a frightful cry of pain and shame. A burning fire, a red-hot iron, the iron of the executioner, was imprinted on my shoulder.”

Felton uttered a groan.

“Here,” said Milady, rising with the majesty of a queen, “here, Felton, behold the new martyrdom invented for a pure young girl, the victim of the brutality of a villain. Learn to know the heart of men, and henceforth make yourself less easily the instrument of their unjust vengeance.”

Milady, with a rapid gesture, opened her robe, tore the cambric that covered her bosom, and red with feigned anger and simulated shame, showed the young man the ineffaceable impression which dishonored that beautiful shoulder.

“But,” cried Felton, “that is a FLEUR-DE-LIS which I see there.”

“And therein consisted the infamy,” replied Milady. “The brand of England! – it would be necessary to prove what tribunal had imposed it on me, and I could have made a public appeal to all the tribunals of the kingdom; but the brand of France! – oh, by that, by THAT I was branded indeed!”

This was too much for Felton.

Pale, motionless, overwhelmed by this frightful revelation, dazzled by the superhuman beauty of this woman who unveiled herself before him with an immodesty which appeared to him sublime, he ended by falling on his knees before her as the early Christians did before those pure and holy martyrs whom the persecution of the emperors gave up in the circus to the sanguinary sensuality of the populace. The brand disappeared; the beauty alone remained.

“Pardon! Pardon!” cried Felton, “oh, pardon!”

Milady read in his eyes LOVE! LOVE!

“Pardon for what?” asked she.

“Pardon me for having joined with your persecutors.”

Milady held out her hand to him.

“So beautiful! so young!” cried Felton, covering that hand with his kisses.

Milady let one of those looks fall upon him which make a slave of a king.

Felton was a Puritan; he abandoned the hand of this woman to kiss her feet.

He no longer loved her; he adored her.

When this crisis was past, when Milady appeared to have resumed her self-possession, which she had never lost; when Felton had seen her recover with the veil of chastity those treasures of love which were only concealed from him to make him desire them the more ardently, he said, “Ah, now! I have only one thing to ask of you; that is, the name of your true executioner. For to me there is but one; the other was an instrument, that was all.”

“What, brother!” cried Milady, “must I name him again? Have you not yet divined who he is?”

“What?” cried Felton, “he-again he-always he? What-the truly guilty?”

“The truly guilty,” said Milady, “is the ravager of England, the persecutor of true believers, the base ravisher of the honor of so many women-he who, to satisfy a caprice of his corrupt heart, is about to make England shed so much blood, who protects the Protestants today and will betray them tomorrow-”

“Buckingham! It is, then, Buckingham!” cried Felton, in a high state of excitement.

Milady concealed her face in her hands, as if she could not endure the shame which this name recalled to her.

“Buckingham, the executioner of this angelic creature!” cried Felton. “And thou hast not hurled thy thunder at him, my God! And thou hast left him noble, honored, powerful, for the ruin of us all!”

“God abandons him who abandons himself,” said Milady.

“But he will draw upon his head the punishment reserved for the damned!” said Felton, with increasing exultation. “He wills that human vengeance should precede celestial justice.”

“Men fear him and spare him.”

“I,” said Felton, “I do not fear him, nor will I spare him.”

The soul of Milady was bathed in an infernal joy.

“But how can Lord de Winter, my protector, my father,” asked Felton, “possibly be mixed up with all this?”

“Listen, Felton,” resumed Milady, “for by the side of base and contemptible men there are often found great and generous natures. I had an affianced husband, a man whom I loved, and who loved me-a heart like yours, Felton, a man like you. I went to him and told him all; he knew me, that man did, and did not doubt an instant. He was a nobleman, a man equal to Buckingham in every respect. He said nothing; he only girded on his sword, wrapped himself in his cloak, and went straight to Buckingham Palace.

“Yes, yes,” said Felton; “I understand how he would act. But with such men it is not the sword that should be employed; it is the poniard.”

“Buckingham had left England the day before, sent as ambassador to Spain, to demand the hand of the Infanta for King Charles I, who was then only Prince of Wales. My affianced husband returned.

“‘Hear me,’ said he; ‘this man has gone, and for the moment has consequently escaped my vengeance; but let us be united, as we were to have been, and then leave it to Lord de Winter to maintain his own honor and that of his wife.’”

“Lord de Winter!” cried Felton.

“Yes,” said Milady, “Lord de Winter; and now you can understand it all, can you not? Buckingham remained nearly a year absent. A week before his return Lord de Winter died, leaving me his sole heir. Whence came the blow? God who knows all, knows without doubt; but as for me, I accuse nobody.”

“Oh, what an abyss; what an abyss!” cried Felton.

“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.

58 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.”

Milady shut the window, extinguished the lamp, and went, as Felton had desired her, to lie down on the bed. Amid the moaning of the storm she heard the grinding of the file upon the bars, and by the light of every flash she perceived the shadow of Felton through the panes.

She passed an hour without breathing, panting, with a cold sweat upon her brow, and her heart oppressed by frightful agony at every movement she heard in the corridor.

There are hours which last a year.

At the expiration of an hour, Felton tapped again.

Milady sprang out of bed and opened the window. Two bars removed formed an opening for a man to pass through.

“Are you ready?” asked Felton.

“Yes. Must I take anything with me?”

“Money, if you have any.”

“Yes; fortunately they have left me all I had.”

“So much the better, for I have expended all mine in chartering a vessel.”

“Here!” said Milady, placing a bag full of louis in Felton’s hands.

Felton took the bag and threw it to the foot of the wall.

“Now,” said he, “will you come?”

“I am ready.”

Milady mounted upon a chair and passed the upper part of her body through the window. She saw the young officer suspended over the abyss by a ladder of ropes. For the first time an emotion of terror reminded her that she was a woman.

The dark space frightened her.

“I expected this,” said Felton.

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing!” said Milady. “I will descend with my eyes shut.”

“Have you confidence in me?” said Felton.

“You ask that?”

“Put your two hands together. Cross them; that’s right!”

Felton tied her two wrists together with his handkerchief, and then with a cord over the handkerchief.

“What are you doing?” asked Milady, with surprise.

“Pass your arms around my neck, and fear nothing.”

“But I shall make you lose your balance, and we shall both be dashed to pieces.”

“Don’t be afraid. I am a sailor.”

Not a second was to be lost. Milady passed her two arms round Felton’s neck, and let herself slip out of the window. Felton began to descend the ladder slowly, step by step. Despite the weight of two bodies, the blast of the hurricane shook them in the air.

All at once Felton stopped.

“What is the matter?” asked Milady.

“Silence,” said Felton, “I hear footsteps.”

“We are discovered!”

There was a silence of several seconds.

“No,” said Felton, “it is nothing.”

“But what, then, is the noise?”

“That of the patrol going their rounds.”

“Where is their road?”

“Just under us.”

“They will discover us!”

“No, if it does not lighten.”

“But they will run against the bottom of the ladder.”

“Fortunately it is too short by six feet.”

“Here they are! My God!”

“Silence!”

Both remained suspended, motionless and breathless, within twenty paces of the ground, while the patrol passed beneath them laughing and talking. This was a terrible moment for the fugitives.

The patrol passed. The noise of their retreating footsteps and the murmur of their voices soon died away.

“Now,” said Felton, “we are safe.”

Milady breathed a deep sigh and fainted.

Felton continued to descend. Near the bottom of the ladder, when he found no more support for his feet, he clung with his hands; at length, arrived at the last step, he let himself hang by the strength of his wrists, and touched the ground. He stooped down, picked up the bag of money, and placed it between his teeth. Then he took Milady in his arms, and set off briskly in the direction opposite to that which the patrol had taken. He soon left the pathway of the patrol, descended across the rocks, and when arrived on the edge of the sea, whistled.

A similar signal replied to him; and five minutes after, a boat appeared, rowed by four men.

The boat approached as near as it could to the shore; but there was not depth enough of water for it to touch land. Felton walked into the sea up to his middle, being unwilling to trust his precious burden to anybody.

Fortunately the storm began to subside, but still the sea was disturbed. The little boat bounded over the waves like a nut-shell.

“To the sloop,” said Felton, “and row quickly.”

The four men bent to their oars, but the sea was too high to let them get much hold of it.

However, they left the castle behind; that was the principal thing. The night was extremely dark. It was almost impossible to see the shore from the boat; they would therefore be less likely to see the boat from the shore.

A black point floated on the sea. That was the sloop. While the boat was advancing with all the speed its four rowers could give it, Felton untied the cord and then the handkerchief which bound Milady’s hands together. When her hands were loosed he took some sea water and sprinkled it over her face.

Milady breathed a sigh, and opened her eyes.

“Where am I?” said she.

“Saved!” replied the young officer.

“Oh, saved, saved!” cried she. “Yes, there is the sky; here is the sea! The air I breathe is the air of liberty! Ah, thanks, Felton, thanks!”