Title: Three Musketeers Author: Dumas, Alexandre Date: 1844 Chapter XXXVII Milady's Secret D'Artagnan left the hotel instead of going up at once to Kitty's chamber, as she endeavored to persuade him to do, and that for two reasons: the first, because by this means he should escape reproaches, recriminations, and prayers; the second, because he was not sorry to have an opportunity of examining his own thoughts, and endeavoring, if possible, to fathom those of this woman. What was the most clear in the matter was that D'Artagnan loved milady like a madman, and that she did not love him at all. In an instant D'Artagnan perceived that the best way in which he could act would be to go home and write milady a long letter, in which he would confess to her that he and De Wardes were, up to the present moment, the same, and that consequently he could not undertake, without committing suicide, to kill the Count de Wardes. But he also was spurred on by a ferocious desire of vengeance; he wished to subdue this woman in his own name; and as this vengeance appeared to him to have a certain sweetness in it, he could not make up his mind to renounce it. He walked six or seven times round the Place Royale, turning, at every ten steps to look at the light in milady's apartment, which was to be seen through the blinds; it was evident that this time the young woman was not in such haste to retire to her apartment as she had been the first. At length the light disappeared. With this light was extinguished the last irresolution in the heart of D'Artagnan: he recalled to his mind the details of the first night, and, with a beating heart and a brain on fire, he re-entered the hotel and flew toward Kitty's chamber. The poor girl pale as death, and trembling in all her limbs, wished to delay her lover; but milady, with her ear on the watch, had heard the noise D'Artagnan had made, and, opening the door: "Come in," said she. All this was of such incredible immodesty, of such monstrous effrontery, that D'Artagnan could scarcely believe what he saw or what he heard. He imagined himself to be drawn into one of those fantastic intrigues which we meet with in our dreams. He, however, darted not the less quickly toward milady, yielding to that magnetic attraction which the loadstone exercises over iron. As the door closed after them, Kitty rushed toward it. Jealousy, fury, offended pride, all the passions in short, that dispute the heart of an outraged woman in love, urged her to make a revelation; but she reflected that she would be totally lost if she confessed having assisted in such a machination, and, above all, that D'Artagnan would also be lost to her forever. This last thought of love counseled her to make this last sacrifice. D'Artagnan, on his part, had gained the summit of all his wishes: it was no longer a rival that was beloved, it was he himself that was apparently beloved. A secret voice whispered to him, at the bottom of his heart, that he was but an instrument of vengeance, that he was only caressed till he had given death; but pride, but self-love, but madness silenced this voice, and stifled its murmurs. And then our Gascon, with that large quantity of conceit which we know he possessed, compared himself with De Wardes, and asked himself why, after all, he should not be beloved for himself? He was absorbed entirely by the sensations of the moment. Milady was no longer, for him, that woman of fatal intentions who had for a moment terrified him; she was an ardent, passionate mistress, returning his love in full measure. But milady, who had not the same motives for forgetfulness that D'Artagnan had, was the first to return to reality, and asked the young man if the means which were on the morrow to bring on the rencounter between him and De Wardes were already arranged in his mind. But D'Artagnan, whose ideas had taken quite another course, forgot himself like a fool, and answered gallantly, that that was not the time to think about duels and sword-thrusts. This coldness for the only interests that occupied her mind terrified milady, whose questions became more pressing. Then D'Artagnan, who had never seriously thought of this impossible duel, endeavored to turn the conversation, but he could not succeed. Milady kept him within the limits she had traced beforehand with her irresistible spirit and her iron will. D'Artagnan fancied himself very cunning when advising milady to renounce, by pardoning De Wardes, the furious projects she had formed. But at the first word she started and exclaimed in a sharp, bantering tone, which sounded strangely: "Are you afraid, dear D'Artagnan?" "You cannot think me so, dear love!" replied D'Artagnan, "but now, suppose this poor Count de Wardes should be less guilty than you imagine him to be?" "At all events," said milady seriously, "he has deceived me, and, from the moment he deceived me, he merited death." "He shall die, then, since you condemn him!" said D'Artagnan, in so firm a tone that it appeared to milady the expression of a devotedness superior to every trial. This reassured her. When the faint light of dawn peeped through the blinds, milady warned D'Artagnan that it was time to depart, not forgetting to remind him of his promise to avenge her on the Count de Wardes. "I am quite ready," said D'Artagnan; "but, in the first place, I should like to be certain of one thing." "And what is that?" asked milady. "That is, whether you really love me?" "You have little reason to ask such a question, I think." "Well, perhaps you do, and I am yours, body and soul!" "Thanks, my brave lover; but as you are satisfied of my love, you must, in your turn satisfy me of yours. Is not that just?" "Certainly; but if you love me as much as you say," replied D'Artagnan, "do you not entertain a little fear on my account?" "What have I to fear?" "Why, that I may be dangerously wounded - killed even." "Impossible!" cried milady; "you are such a valiant man, and such an expert swordsman." "You would not, then, prefer a means," resumed D'Artagnan, "which would equally avenge you, while rendering the combat useless?" Milady looked at her lover in silence; the pale light of the first rays of day gave to her clear eyes a strangely frightful expression. "Really," said she, "I believe you now begin to hesitate." "No, I do not hesitate; but I really pity this poor Count de Wardes, since you have ceased to love him. I think that a man must be so severely punished by the loss of your love that he stands in need of no other chastisement." "Who told you that I have loved him?" asked milady sharply. "At least, I am now at liberty to believe, without too much fatuity, that you love another," said the young man, in a caressing tone, "and I repeat, that I am really interested for the count." "You are?" asked milady. "Yes, I." "And on what account?" "Because I alone know - " "What?" "That he is far from being, or rather having been, so guilty toward you, as he appears to be." "Indeed!" said milady, in an anxious tone; "explain yourself, for I really cannot tell what you mean." And she looked at D'Artagnan. "Yes; I am a man of honor," said D'Artagnan, determined to come to an end, "and since your love is mine, and I am satisfied I possess it - for I do possess it, do I not?" "Entirely; go on." "Well, I feel as if transformed - a confession weighs on my mind." "A confession!" "If I had the least doubt of your love I would not make it; but you love me, do you not?" "Without doubt I do." "Then if, through excess of love, I have rendered myself culpable toward you, you will pardon me?" "Perhaps." D'Artagnan assumed his most winning smile, but it had no effect; he had alarmed milady, and she involuntarily turned from him. "This confession," said she, growing paler and paler, "what is this confession!" "You gave De Wardes a meeting on Thursday last, in this very room, did you not?" "Who - I? No, certainly not!" said milady, in a tone of voice so firm, and with a countenance so unchanged, that if D'Artagnan had not been in such perfect possession of the fact, he would have doubted. "Do not say that which is not true, my angel," said D'Artagnan, smiling; "that would be useless." "What do you mean? Speak! you terrify me to death." "Be satisfied; you are not guilty toward me - I have already pardoned you." "What next? what next?" "De Wardes cannot boast of anything." "How is that? You told me yourself that that ring - " "That ring I have! The Count de Wardes of last Thursday and the D'Artagnan of to-day are the same person!" The imprudent young man expected a surprise mixed with shame - a slight storm, which would resolve itself into tears; but he was strangely deceived, and his error was not of long duration. Pale and trembling, milady repulsed D'Artagnan's attempted embrace by a violent blow on the chest, as she sprang from him. It was then broad daylight. In his eagerness to detain her, D'Artagnan had grasped her dress; but the frail cambric could not stand against two such strong wills - it was torn from her fair round shoulders, and, to his horror and astonishment, D'Artagnan recognized upon one of them, indelibly branded, the mark which is impressed by the ignominious hand of the executioner. "Great God!" cried D'Artagnan, loosing his hold, and remaining mute, motionless, and frozen. But milady felt herself denounced by his terror even. He had doubtless seen all. The young man now knew her secret, her terrible secret - the secret she concealed even from her maid with such care, the secret of which all the world, excepting he, was ignorant. She turned upon him, no longer like a furious woman, but like a wounded panther. "Ah, wretch!" cried she, "thou hast basely betrayed me! and still more, thou hast my secret! Thou shalt die!" And she flew to a little inlaid casket which stood upon the toilet, opened it with a feverish and trembling hand, drew from it a small poniard with a golden haft and a sharp thin blade, and then threw herself with a bound upon D'Artagnan. Although the young man was, as we know, brave, he was terrified at that wild countenance, those terribly dilated pupils, those pale cheeks, and those bleeding lips. He drew back to the other side of the room as he would have done from a serpent which was crawling toward him, and his sword coming in contact with his nervous hand, he drew it, almost unconsciously, from the scabbard. But, without taking any heed of the sword, milady endeavored to get near enough to him to stab him, and did not stop till she felt the sharp point at her throat. She then endeavored to seize the sword with her hands; but D'Artagnan kept it free from her grasp, and continued to present the point, sometimes at her eyes, sometimes at her breast, while he aimed at making his retreat by the door which led to Kitty's apartment. Milady during this time continued to strike at him with her dagger with horrible fury, screaming in a superhuman manner. As all this, however, bore some resemblance to a duel, D'Artagnan soon began to recover himself. "Very well, pretty lady, very well," said he; "but, pardieu! if you don't calm yourself, I will mark you with a second fleur-de-lis upon one of those pretty cheeks!" "Scoundrel! infamous scoundrel!" howled milady. But D'Artagnan, still keeping on the defensive, drew near to Kitty's door. At the noise they made, she in overturning the furniture in her efforts to get at him, he in screening himself behind the furniture to keep out of her reach, Kitty, in great alarm, opened the door. D'Artagnan, who had constantly maneuvered to gain this point, was not at more than three paces from it. With one spring he flew from the chamber of milady into that of the maid, and, quick as lightning, he slammed-to the door, and placed all his weight against it, while Kitty bolted it. Then milady attempted to tear down the door-case, with a strength apparently above that of a woman; but finding she could not accomplish this, she, in her fury, stabbed at the door with her poniard, the point of which repeatedly glittered through the wood. Every blow was accompanied with terrible imprecations. "Quick, Kitty, quick!" said D'Artagnan, in a low voice, as soon as the bolts were fast, "let me get out of the hotel; for if we leave her time to turn round, she will have me killed by the servants!" "But you can't go out so," said Kitty; "you have hardly any clothes on." "That's true," said D'Artagnan, then first thinking of the costume he appeared in - "that's true; but dress me as well as you are able, only make haste; think, my dear girl, it's life and death!" Kitty was but too well aware of that. In a moment she muffled him up in a large flowered robe, a capacious hood, and a cloak; she gave him some slippers, in which he placed his naked feet, and then conducted him down the stairs. It was time: milady had already rung her bell, and roused the whole hotel; the porter was drawing the cord at the moment milady cried from her window: "Don't open the gate! don't open the gate!" The young man sprang out while she was still threatening him with an impotent gesture. At the moment she lost sight of him, milady sank back fainting into her chamber.