الفصل الفصل 45 · Chapter XLV.

. Chapter XLV.

A CONJUGAL SCENE

As Athos had foreseen, it was not long before the cardinal came down.

He opened the door of the room in which the Musketeers were, and found

Porthos playing an earnest game of dice with Aramis. He cast a rapid

glance around the room, and perceived that one of his men was missing.

“What has become of Monseigneur Athos?” asked he.

“Monseigneur,” replied Porthos, “he has gone as a scout, on account of

some words of our host, which made him believe the road was not safe.”

“And you, what have you done, Monsieur Porthos?”

“I have won five pistoles of Aramis.”

“Well; now will you return with me?”

“We are at your Eminence’s orders.”

“To horse, then, gentlemen; for it is getting late.”

The attendant was at the door, holding the cardinal’s horse by the

bridle. At a short distance a group of two men and three horses

appeared in the shade. These were the two men who were to conduct

Milady to Fort La Pointe, and superintend her embarkation.

The attendant confirmed to the cardinal what the two Musketeers had

already said with respect to Athos. The cardinal made an approving

gesture, and retraced his route with the same precautions he had used

in coming.

Let us leave him to follow the road to the camp protected by his

esquire and the two Musketeers, and return to Athos.

For a hundred paces he maintained the speed at which he started; but

when out of sight he turned his horse to the right, made a circuit, and

came back within twenty paces of a high hedge to watch the passage of

the little troop. Having recognized the laced hats of his companions

and the golden fringe of the cardinal’s cloak, he waited till the

horsemen had turned the angle of the road, and having lost sight of

them, he returned at a gallop to the inn, which was opened to him

without hesitation.

The host recognized him.

“My officer,” said Athos, “has forgotten to give a piece of very

important information to the lady, and has sent me back to repair his

forgetfulness.”

“Go up,” said the host; “she is still in her chamber.”

Athos availed himself of the permission, ascended the stairs with his

lightest step, gained the landing, and through the open door perceived

Milady putting on her hat.

He entered the chamber and closed the door behind him. At the noise he

made in pushing the bolt, Milady turned round.

Athos was standing before the door, enveloped in his cloak, with his

hat pulled down over his eyes. On seeing this figure, mute and

immovable as a statue, Milady was frightened.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” cried she.

“Humph,” murmured Athos, “it is certainly she!”

And letting fall his cloak and raising his hat, he advanced toward

Milady.

“Do you know me, madame?” said he.

Milady made one step forward, and then drew back as if she had seen a

serpent.

“So far, well,” said Athos, “I perceive you know me.”

“The Comte de la Fère!” murmured Milady, becoming exceedingly pale, and

drawing back till the wall prevented her from going any farther.

“Yes, Milady,” replied Athos; “the Comte de la Fère in person, who

comes expressly from the other world to have the pleasure of paying you

a visit. Sit down, madame, and let us talk, as the cardinal said.”

Milady, under the influence of inexpressible terror, sat down without

uttering a word.

“You certainly are a demon sent upon the earth!” said Athos. “Your

power is great, I know; but you also know that with the help of God men

have often conquered the most terrible demons. You have once before

thrown yourself in my path. I thought I had crushed you, madame; but

either I was deceived or hell has resuscitated you!”

Milady at these words, which recalled frightful remembrances, hung down

her head with a suppressed groan.

“Yes, hell has resuscitated you,” continued Athos. “Hell has made you

rich, hell has given you another name, hell has almost made you another

face; but it has neither effaced the stains from your soul nor the

brand from your body.”

Milady arose as if moved by a powerful spring, and her eyes flashed

lightning. Athos remained sitting.

“You believed me to be dead, did you not, as I believed you to be? And

the name of Athos as well concealed the Comte de la Fère, as the name

Milady Clarik concealed Anne de Breuil. Was it not so you were called

when your honored brother married us? Our position is truly a strange

one,” continued Athos, laughing. “We have only lived up to the present

time because we believed each other dead, and because a remembrance is

less oppressive than a living creature, though a remembrance is

sometimes devouring.”

“But,” said Milady, in a hollow, faint voice, “what brings you back to

me, and what do you want with me?”

“I wish to tell you that though remaining invisible to your eyes, I

have not lost sight of you.”

“You know what I have done?”

“I can relate to you, day by day, your actions from your entrance to

the service of the cardinal to this evening.”

A smile of incredulity passed over the pale lips of Milady.

“Listen! It was you who cut off the two diamond studs from the shoulder

of the Duke of Buckingham; it was you who had Madame Bonacieux carried

off; it was you who, in love with De Wardes and thinking to pass the

night with him, opened the door to Monsieur d’Artagnan; it was you who,

believing that De Wardes had deceived you, wished to have him killed by

his rival; it was you who, when this rival had discovered your infamous

secret, wished to have him killed in his turn by two assassins, whom

you sent in pursuit of him; it was you who, finding the balls had

missed their mark, sent poisoned wine with a forged letter, to make

your victim believe that the wine came from his friends. In short, it

was you who have but now in this chamber, seated in this chair I now

fill, made an engagement with Cardinal Richelieu to cause the Duke of

Buckingham to be assassinated, in exchange for the promise he has made

you to allow you to assassinate D’Artagnan.”

Milady was livid.

“You must be Satan!” cried she.

“Perhaps,” said Athos; “But at all events listen well to this.

Assassinate the Duke of Buckingham, or cause him to be assassinated—I

care very little about that! I don’t know him. Besides, he is an

Englishman. But do not touch with the tip of your finger a single hair

of D’Artagnan, who is a faithful friend whom I love and defend, or I

swear to you by the head of my father the crime which you shall have

endeavored to commit, or shall have committed, shall be the last.”

“Monsieur d’Artagnan has cruelly insulted me,” said Milady, in a hollow

tone; “Monsieur d’Artagnan shall die!”

“Indeed! Is it possible to insult you, madame?” said Athos, laughing;

“he has insulted you, and he shall die!”

“He shall die!” replied Milady; “she first, and he afterward.”

Athos was seized with a kind of vertigo. The sight of this creature,

who had nothing of the woman about her, recalled awful remembrances. He

thought how one day, in a less dangerous situation than the one in

which he was now placed, he had already endeavored to sacrifice her to

his honor. His desire for blood returned, burning his brain and

pervading his frame like a raging fever; he arose in his turn, reached

his hand to his belt, drew forth a pistol, and cocked it.

Milady, pale as a corpse, endeavored to cry out; but her swollen tongue

could utter no more than a hoarse sound which had nothing human in it

and resembled the rattle of a wild beast. Motionless against the dark

tapestry, with her hair in disorder, she appeared like a horrid image

of terror.

Athos slowly raised his pistol, stretched out his arm so that the

weapon almost touched Milady’s forehead, and then, in a voice the more

terrible from having the supreme calmness of a fixed resolution,

“Madame,” said he, “you will this instant deliver to me the paper the

cardinal signed; or upon my soul, I will blow your brains out.”

With another man, Milady might have preserved some doubt; but she knew

Athos. Nevertheless, she remained motionless.

“You have one second to decide,” said he.

Milady saw by the contraction of his countenance that the trigger was

about to be pulled; she reached her hand quickly to her bosom, drew out

a paper, and held it toward Athos.

“Take it,” said she, “and be accursed!”

Athos took the paper, returned the pistol to his belt, approached the

lamp to be assured that it was the paper, unfolded it, and read:

“Dec. 3, 1627

“It is by my order and for the good of the state that the bearer of

this has done what he has done.

“RICHELIEU”

“And now,” said Athos, resuming his cloak and putting on his hat, “now

that I have drawn your teeth, viper, bite if you can.”

And he left the chamber without once looking behind him.

At the door he found the two men and the spare horse which they held.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “Monseigneur’s order is, you know, to conduct

that woman, without losing time, to Fort La Pointe, and never to leave

her till she is on board.”

As these words agreed wholly with the order they had received, they

bowed their heads in sign of assent.

With regard to Athos, he leaped lightly into the saddle and set out at

full gallop; only instead of following the road, he went across the

fields, urging his horse to the utmost and stopping occasionally to

listen.

In one of those halts he heard the steps of several horses on the road.

He had no doubt it was the cardinal and his escort. He immediately made

a new point in advance, rubbed his horse down with some heath and

leaves of trees, and placed himself across the road, about two hundred

paces from the camp.

“Who goes there?” cried he, as soon as he perceived the horsemen.

“That is our brave Musketeer, I think,” said the cardinal.

“Yes, monseigneur,” said Porthos, “it is he.”

“Monsieur Athos,” said Richelieu, “receive my thanks for the good guard

you have kept. Gentlemen, we are arrived; take the gate on the left.

The watchword is, ‘King and Ré.’”

Saying these words, the cardinal saluted the three friends with an

inclination of his head, and took the right hand, followed by his

attendant—for that night he himself slept in the camp.

“Well!” said Porthos and Aramis together, as soon as the cardinal was

out of hearing, “well, he signed the paper she required!”

“I know it,” said Athos, coolly, “since here it is.”

And the three friends did not exchange another word till they reached

their quarters, except to give the watchword to the sentinels. Only

they sent Mousqueton to tell Planchet that his master was requested,

the instant that he left the trenches, to come to the quarters of the

Musketeers.

Milady, as Athos had foreseen, on finding the two men that awaited her,

made no difficulty in following them. She had had for an instant an

inclination to be reconducted to the cardinal, and relate everything to

him; but a revelation on her part would bring about a revelation on the

part of Athos. She might say that Athos had hanged her; but then Athos

would tell that she was branded. She thought it was best to preserve

silence, to discreetly set off to accomplish her difficult mission with

her usual skill; and then, all things being accomplished to the

satisfaction of the cardinal, to come to him and claim her vengeance.

In consequence, after having traveled all night, at seven o’clock she

was at the fort of the Point; at eight o’clock she had embarked; and at

nine, the vessel, which with letters of marque from the cardinal was

supposed to be sailing for Bayonne, raised anchor, and steered its

course toward England.