الفصل الفصل 50 · Chapter L.

. 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

shoulder of Milady, which he almost touched with his finger.

Milady uttered a deep, inward shriek, and retreated to a corner of the

room like a panther which crouches for a spring.

“Oh, growl as much as you please,” cried Lord de Winter, “but don’t try

to bite, for I warn you that it would be to your disadvantage. There

are here no procurators who regulate successions beforehand. There is

no knight-errant to come and seek a quarrel with me on account of the

fair lady I detain a prisoner; but I have judges quite ready who will

quickly dispose of a woman so shameless as to glide, a bigamist, into

the bed of Lord de Winter, my brother. And these judges, I warn you,

will soon send you to an executioner who will make both your shoulders

alike.”

The eyes of Milady darted such flashes that although he was a man and

armed before an unarmed woman, he felt the chill of fear glide through

his whole frame. However, he continued all the same, but with

increasing warmth: “Yes, I can very well understand that after having

inherited the fortune of my brother it would be very agreeable to you

to be my heir likewise; but know beforehand, if you kill me or cause me

to be killed, my precautions are taken. Not a penny of what I possess

will pass into your hands. Were you not already rich enough—you who

possess nearly a million? And could you not stop your fatal career, if

you did not do evil for the infinite and supreme joy of doing it? Oh,

be assured, if the memory of my brother were not sacred to me, you

should rot in a state dungeon or satisfy the curiosity of sailors at

Tyburn. I will be silent, but you must endure your captivity quietly.

In fifteen or twenty days I shall set out for La Rochelle with the

army; but on the eve of my departure a vessel which I shall see depart

will take you hence and convey you to our colonies in the south. And be

assured that you shall be accompanied by one who will blow your brains

out at the first attempt you make to return to England or the

Continent.”

Milady listened with an attention that dilated her inflamed eyes.

“Yes, at present,” continued Lord de Winter, “you will remain in this

castle. The walls are thick, the doors strong, and the bars solid;

besides, your window opens immediately over the sea. The men of my

crew, who are devoted to me for life and death, mount guard around this

apartment, and watch all the passages that lead to the courtyard. Even

if you gained the yard, there would still be three iron gates for you

to pass. The order is positive. A step, a gesture, a word, on your

part, denoting an effort to escape, and you are to be fired upon. If

they kill you, English justice will be under an obligation to me for

having saved it trouble. Ah! I see your features regain their calmness,

your countenance recovers its assurance. You are saying to yourself:

‘Fifteen days, twenty days? Bah! I have an inventive mind; before that

is expired some idea will occur to me. I have an infernal spirit. I

shall meet with a victim. Before fifteen days are gone by I shall be

away from here.’ Ah, try it!”

Milady, finding her thoughts betrayed, dug her nails into her flesh to

subdue every emotion that might give to her face any expression except

agony.

Lord de Winter continued: “The officer who commands here in my absence

you have already seen, and therefore know him. He knows how, as you

must have observed, to obey an order—for you did not, I am sure, come

from Portsmouth hither without endeavoring to make him speak. What do

you say of him? Could a statue of marble have been more impassive and

more mute? You have already tried the power of your seductions upon

many men, and unfortunately you have always succeeded; but I give you

leave to try them upon this one. _Pardieu!_ if you succeed with him, I

pronounce you the demon himself.”

He went toward the door and opened it hastily.

“Call Mr. Felton,” said he. “Wait a minute longer, and I will introduce

him to you.”

There followed between these two personages a strange silence, during

which the sound of a slow and regular step was heard approaching.

Shortly a human form appeared in the shade of the corridor, and the

young lieutenant, with whom we are already acquainted, stopped at the

threshold to receive the orders of the baron.

“Come in, my dear John,” said Lord de Winter, “come in, and shut the

door.”

The young officer entered.

“Now,” said the baron, “look at this woman. She is young; she is

beautiful; she possesses all earthly seductions. Well, she is a

monster, who, at twenty-five years of age, has been guilty of as many

crimes as you could read of in a year in the archives of our tribunals.

Her voice prejudices her hearers in her favor; her beauty serves as a

bait to her victims; her body even pays what she promises—I must do her

that justice. She will try to seduce you, perhaps she will try to kill

you. I have extricated you from misery, Felton; I have caused you to be

named lieutenant; I once saved your life, you know on what occasion. I

am for you not only a protector, but a friend; not only a benefactor,

but a father. This woman has come back again into England for the

purpose of conspiring against my life. I hold this serpent in my hands.

Well, I call you, and say to you: Friend Felton, John, my child, guard

me, and more particularly guard yourself, against this woman. Swear, by

your hopes of salvation, to keep her safely for the chastisement she

has merited. John Felton, I trust your word! John Felton, I put faith

in your loyalty!”

“My Lord,” said the young officer, summoning to his mild countenance

all the hatred he could find in his heart, “my Lord, I swear all shall

be done as you desire.”

Milady received this look like a resigned victim; it was impossible to

imagine a more submissive or a more mild expression than that which

prevailed on her beautiful countenance. Lord de Winter himself could

scarcely recognize the tigress who, a minute before, prepared

apparently for a fight.

“She is not to leave this chamber, understand, John,” continued the

baron. “She is to correspond with nobody; she is to speak to no one but

you—if you will do her the honor to address a word to her.”

“That is sufficient, my Lord! I have sworn.”

“And now, madame, try to make your peace with God, for you are judged

by men!”

Milady let her head sink, as if crushed by this sentence. Lord de

Winter went out, making a sign to Felton, who followed him, shutting

the door after him.

One instant after, the heavy step of a marine who served as sentinel

was heard in the corridor—his ax in his girdle and his musket on his

shoulder.

Milady remained for some minutes in the same position, for she thought

they might perhaps be examining her through the keyhole; she then

slowly raised her head, which had resumed its formidable expression of

menace and defiance, ran to the door to listen, looked out of her

window, and returning to bury herself again in her large armchair, she

reflected.