Chapter Chapter 35 · Chapter XXXV.

. Chapter XXXV.

A GASCON A MATCH FOR CUPID

The evening so impatiently waited for by Porthos and by D’Artagnan at

last arrived.

As was his custom, D’Artagnan presented himself at Milady’s at about

nine o’clock. He found her in a charming humor. Never had he been so

well received. Our Gascon knew, by the first glance of his eye, that

his billet had been delivered, and that this billet had had its effect.

Kitty entered to bring some sherbet. Her mistress put on a charming

face, and smiled on her graciously; but alas! the poor girl was so sad

that she did not even notice Milady’s condescension.

D’Artagnan looked at the two women, one after the other, and was forced

to acknowledge that in his opinion Dame Nature had made a mistake in

their formation. To the great lady she had given a heart vile and

venal; to the _soubrette_ she had given the heart of a duchess.

At ten o’clock Milady began to appear restless. D’Artagnan knew what

she wanted. She looked at the clock, rose, reseated herself, smiled at

D’Artagnan with an air which said, “You are very amiable, no doubt, but

you would be _charming_ if you would only depart.”

D’Artagnan rose and took his hat; Milady gave him her hand to kiss. The

young man felt her press his hand, and comprehended that this was a

sentiment, not of coquetry, but of gratitude because of his departure.

“She loves him devilishly,” he murmured. Then he went out.

This time Kitty was nowhere waiting for him; neither in the

antechamber, nor in the corridor, nor beneath the great door. It was

necessary that D’Artagnan should find alone the staircase and the

little chamber. She heard him enter, but she did not raise her head.

The young man went to her and took her hands; then she sobbed aloud.

As D’Artagnan had presumed, on receiving his letter, Milady in a

delirium of joy had told her servant everything; and by way of

recompense for the manner in which she had this time executed the

commission, she had given Kitty a purse.

Returning to her own room, Kitty had thrown the purse into a corner,

where it lay open, disgorging three or four gold pieces on the carpet.

The poor girl, under the caresses of D’Artagnan, lifted her head.

D’Artagnan himself was frightened by the change in her countenance. She

joined her hands with a suppliant air, but without venturing to speak a

word. As little sensitive as was the heart of D’Artagnan, he was

touched by this mute sorrow; but he held too tenaciously to his

projects, above all to this one, to change the program which he had

laid out in advance. He did not therefore allow her any hope that he

would flinch; only he represented his action as one of simple

vengeance.

For the rest this vengeance was very easy; for Milady, doubtless to

conceal her blushes from her lover, had ordered Kitty to extinguish all

the lights in the apartment, and even in the little chamber itself.

Before daybreak M. de Wardes must take his departure, still in

obscurity.

Presently they heard Milady retire to her room. D’Artagnan slipped into

the wardrobe. Hardly was he concealed when the little bell sounded.

Kitty went to her mistress, and did not leave the door open; but the

partition was so thin that one could hear nearly all that passed

between the two women.

Milady seemed overcome with joy, and made Kitty repeat the smallest

details of the pretended interview of the _soubrette_ with De Wardes

when he received the letter; how he had responded; what was the

expression of his face; if he seemed very amorous. And to all these

questions poor Kitty, forced to put on a pleasant face, responded in a

stifled voice whose dolorous accent her mistress did not however

remark, solely because happiness is egotistical.

Finally, as the hour for her interview with the count approached,

Milady had everything about her darkened, and ordered Kitty to return

to her own chamber, and introduce De Wardes whenever he presented

himself.

Kitty’s detention was not long. Hardly had D’Artagnan seen, through a

crevice in his closet, that the whole apartment was in obscurity, than

he slipped out of his concealment, at the very moment when Kitty

reclosed the door of communication.

“What is that noise?” demanded Milady.

“It is I,” said D’Artagnan in a subdued voice, “I, the Comte de

Wardes.”

“Oh, my God, my God!” murmured Kitty, “he has not even waited for the

hour he himself named!”

“Well,” said Milady, in a trembling voice, “why do you not enter?

Count, Count,” added she, “you know that I wait for you.”

At this appeal D’Artagnan drew Kitty quietly away, and slipped into the

chamber.

If rage or sorrow ever torture the heart, it is when a lover receives

under a name which is not his own protestations of love addressed to

his happy rival. D’Artagnan was in a dolorous situation which he had

not foreseen. Jealousy gnawed his heart; and he suffered almost as much

as poor Kitty, who at that very moment was crying in the next chamber.

“Yes, Count,” said Milady, in her softest voice, and pressing his hand

in her own, “I am happy in the love which your looks and your words

have expressed to me every time we have met. I also—I love you. Oh,

tomorrow, tomorrow, I must have some pledge from you which will prove

that you think of me; and that you may not forget me, take this!” and

she slipped a ring from her finger onto D’Artagnan’s. D’Artagnan

remembered having seen this ring on the finger of Milady; it was a

magnificent sapphire, encircled with brilliants.

The first movement of D’Artagnan was to return it, but Milady added,

“No, no! Keep that ring for love of me. Besides, in accepting it,” she

added, in a voice full of emotion, “you render me a much greater

service than you imagine.”

“This woman is full of mysteries,” murmured D’Artagnan to himself. At

that instant he felt himself ready to reveal all. He even opened his

mouth to tell Milady who he was, and with what a revengeful purpose he

had come; but she added, “Poor angel, whom that monster of a Gascon

barely failed to kill.”

The monster was himself.

“Oh,” continued Milady, “do your wounds still make you suffer?”

“Yes, much,” said D’Artagnan, who did not well know how to answer.

“Be tranquil,” murmured Milady; “I will avenge you—and cruelly!”

“_Peste!_” said D’Artagnan to himself, “the moment for confidences has

not yet come.”

It took some time for D’Artagnan to resume this little dialogue; but

then all the ideas of vengeance which he had brought with him had

completely vanished. This woman exercised over him an unaccountable

power; he hated and adored her at the same time. He would not have

believed that two sentiments so opposite could dwell in the same heart,

and by their union constitute a passion so strange, and as it were,

diabolical.

Presently it sounded one o’clock. It was necessary to separate.

D’Artagnan at the moment of quitting Milady felt only the liveliest

regret at the parting; and as they addressed each other in a

reciprocally passionate adieu, another interview was arranged for the

following week.

Poor Kitty hoped to speak a few words to D’Artagnan when he passed

through her chamber; but Milady herself reconducted him through the

darkness, and only quit him at the staircase.

The next morning D’Artagnan ran to find Athos. He was engaged in an

adventure so singular that he wished for counsel. He therefore told him

all.

“Your Milady,” said he, “appears to be an infamous creature, but not

the less you have done wrong to deceive her. In one fashion or another

you have a terrible enemy on your hands.”

While thus speaking Athos regarded with attention the sapphire set with

diamonds which had taken, on D’Artagnan’s finger, the place of the

queen’s ring, carefully kept in a casket.

“You notice my ring?” said the Gascon, proud to display so rich a gift

in the eyes of his friends.

“Yes,” said Athos, “it reminds me of a family jewel.”

“It is beautiful, is it not?” said D’Artagnan.

“Yes,” said Athos, “magnificent. I did not think two sapphires of such

a fine water existed. Have you traded it for your diamond?”

“No. It is a gift from my beautiful Englishwoman, or rather

Frenchwoman—for I am convinced she was born in France, though I have

not questioned her.”

“That ring comes from Milady?” cried Athos, with a voice in which it

was easy to detect strong emotion.

“Her very self; she gave it me last night. Here it is,” replied

D’Artagnan, taking it from his finger.

Athos examined it and became very pale. He tried it on his left hand;

it fit his finger as if made for it.

A shade of anger and vengeance passed across the usually calm brow of

this gentleman.

“It is impossible it can be she,” said he. “How could this ring come

into the hands of Milady Clarik? And yet it is difficult to suppose

such a resemblance should exist between two jewels.”

“Do you know this ring?” said D’Artagnan.

“I thought I did,” replied Athos; “but no doubt I was mistaken.” And he

returned D’Artagnan the ring without, however, ceasing to look at it.

“Pray, D’Artagnan,” said Athos, after a minute, “either take off that

ring or turn the mounting inside; it recalls such cruel recollections

that I shall have no head to converse with you. Don’t ask me for

counsel; don’t tell me you are perplexed what to do. But stop! let me

look at that sapphire again; the one I mentioned to you had one of its

faces scratched by accident.”

D’Artagnan took off the ring, giving it again to Athos.

Athos started. “Look,” said he, “is it not strange?” and he pointed out

to D’Artagnan the scratch he had remembered.

“But from whom did this ring come to you, Athos?”

“From my mother, who inherited it from her mother. As I told you, it is

an old family jewel.”

“And you—sold it?” asked D’Artagnan, hesitatingly.

“No,” replied Athos, with a singular smile. “I gave it away in a night

of love, as it has been given to you.”

D’Artagnan became pensive in his turn; it appeared as if there were

abysses in Milady’s soul whose depths were dark and unknown. He took

back the ring, but put it in his pocket and not on his finger.

“D’Artagnan,” said Athos, taking his hand, “you know I love you; if I

had a son I could not love him better. Take my advice, renounce this

woman. I do not know her, but a sort of intuition tells me she is a

lost creature, and that there is something fatal about her.”

“You are right,” said D’Artagnan; “I will have done with her. I own

that this woman terrifies me.”

“Shall you have the courage?” said Athos.

“I shall,” replied D’Artagnan, “and instantly.”

“In truth, my young friend, you will act rightly,” said the gentleman,

pressing the Gascon’s hand with an affection almost paternal; “and God

grant that this woman, who has scarcely entered into your life, may not

leave a terrible trace in it!” And Athos bowed to D’Artagnan like a man

who wishes it understood that he would not be sorry to be left alone

with his thoughts.

On reaching home D’Artagnan found Kitty waiting for him. A month of

fever could not have changed her more than this one night of

sleeplessness and sorrow.

She was sent by her mistress to the false De Wardes. Her mistress was

mad with love, intoxicated with joy. She wished to know when her lover

would meet her a second night; and poor Kitty, pale and trembling,

awaited D’Artagnan’s reply. The counsels of his friend, joined to the

cries of his own heart, made him determine, now his pride was saved and

his vengeance satisfied, not to see Milady again. As a reply, he wrote

the following letter:

Do not depend upon me, madame, for the next meeting. Since my

convalescence I have so many affairs of this kind on my hands that I am

forced to regulate them a little. When your turn comes, I shall have

the honor to inform you of it. I kiss your hands.

COMTE DE WARDES

Not a word about the sapphire. Was the Gascon determined to keep it as

a weapon against Milady, or else, let us be frank, did he not reserve

the sapphire as a last resource for his outfit? It would be wrong to

judge the actions of one period from the point of view of another. That

which would now be considered as disgraceful to a gentleman was at that

time quite a simple and natural affair, and the younger sons of the

best families were frequently supported by their mistresses. D’Artagnan

gave the open letter to Kitty, who at first was unable to comprehend

it, but who became almost wild with joy on reading it a second time.

She could scarcely believe in her happiness; and D’Artagnan was forced

to renew with the living voice the assurances which he had written. And

whatever might be—considering the violent character of Milady—the

danger which the poor girl incurred in giving this billet to her

mistress, she ran back to the Place Royale as fast as her legs could

carry her.

The heart of the best woman is pitiless toward the sorrows of a rival.

Milady opened the letter with eagerness equal to Kitty’s in bringing

it; but at the first words she read she became livid. She crushed the

paper in her hand, and turning with flashing eyes upon Kitty, she

cried, “What is this letter?”

“The answer to Madame’s,” replied Kitty, all in a tremble.

“Impossible!” cried Milady. “It is impossible a gentleman could have

written such a letter to a woman.” Then all at once, starting, she

cried, “My God! can he have—” and she stopped. She ground her teeth;

she was of the color of ashes. She tried to go toward the window for

air, but she could only stretch forth her arms; her legs failed her,

and she sank into an armchair. Kitty, fearing she was ill, hastened

toward her and was beginning to open her dress; but Milady started up,

pushing her away. “What do you want with me?” said she, “and why do you

place your hand on me?”

“I thought that Madame was ill, and I wished to bring her help,”

responded the maid, frightened at the terrible expression which had

come over her mistress’s face.

“I faint? I? I? Do you take me for half a woman? When I am insulted I

do not faint; I avenge myself!”

And she made a sign for Kitty to leave the room.