Title: Three Musketeers Author: Dumas, Alexandre Date: 1844 Chapter LXIII The Drop Of Water Rochefort had scarcely departed, when Madame Bonacieux re-entered. She found milady with a smiling countenance. "Well," said the young woman, "what you dreaded has happened; this evening, or to-morrow, the cardinal will send some one to take you away!" "Who told you that, my dear?" said milady. "I heard it from the mouth of the messenger himself." "Come and sit down close to me," said milady; "and let me be assured no one can hear us." "Why do you take all these precautions?" "You shall know." Milady arose, went to the door, opened it, looked in the corridor, and then returned and seated herself close to Madame Bonacieux. "Then," said she, "he has well played his part." "Who has?" "He who just now presented himself to the abbess as a messenger from the cardinal." "It was, then, a part he was playing?" "Yes, my dear." "That man, then, was not - " "That man," said milady, lowering her voice, "is my brother!" "Your brother!" said Madame Bonacieux. "Mind, no one must know this secret, my dear, but yourself. If you reveal it to any one whatever, I shall be lost, and perhaps you likewise!" "Oh! good God!" "Listen to me; this is what has happened. My brother, who was coming to my assistance, to take me away, by force, if it were necessary, met with the emissary of the cardinal, who was coming in search of me. He followed him. When arrived at a solitary and retired part of the road, he drew his sword and required the messenger to deliver up to him the papers of which he was the bearer; the messenger resisted; my brother killed him." "Oh!" said Madame Bonacieux, with a shudder. "Remember, that was the only means. Then my brother determined to substitute cunning for force. He took the papers, and presented himself here as the emissary of the cardinal, and in an hour or two a carriage will come to take me away by the orders of his eminence." "I understand: your brother sends this carriage." "Exactly so; but that is not all. That letter you have received, and which you believe to be from Madame de Chevreuse - " "Well?" "It is a forgery." "How can that be?" "Yes, a forgery; it is a snare to prevent your making any resistance when the persons come to fetch you." "But it is D'Artagnan that will come!" "Do not deceive yourself. D'Artagnan and his friends are detained at the siege of La Rochelle." "How do you know that?" "My brother met some emissaries of the cardinal in the uniform of musketeers. You would have been summoned to the gate, you would have thought you went to meet friends, you would have been carried off, and conducted back again to Paris." "Oh! good God! My senses fail me amid such a chaos of iniquities. I feel, if this continues," said Madame Bonacieux, raising her hands to her forehead, "I shall go mad!" "Stop - " "What?" "I hear a horse's steps, it is my brother setting off again. I should like to offer him a last salute. Come?" Milady opened the window, and made a sign to Madame Bonacieux to join her. The young woman complied. Rochefort passed at a gallop. "Adieu, brother!" cried milady. The chevalier raised his head, saw the two young women, and without stopping waved his hand in a friendly way to milady. "Dear, good George!" said she, closing the window with an expression of countenance full of affection and melancholy. And she resumed her seat, as if plunged in reflections entirely personal. "Dear lady," said Madame Bonacieux, "pardon me for interrupting you; but what do you advise me to do? Good heaven! You have more experience than I have. Speak; I will listen to your advice with the greatest gratitude." "In the first place," said milady, "it is possible that I may be deceived, and D'Artagnan and his friends may really come to your assistance." "Oh! that would be too much!" cried Madame Bonacieux; "so much happiness is not destined for me!" "Then you perceive it would be only a question of time, a sort of race, which should arrive first. If your friends are the more speedy, you will be saved; if the satellites of the cardinal are so, you will be lost!" "Oh! yes, yes! lost beyond redemption! What am I to do? what am I to do?" "There would be a very simple means, very natural - " "What? Speak!" "To wait, concealed in the neighborhood, until you have satisfied yourself who the men were who came to ask for you." "But where can I wait?" "Oh! there is no difficulty in that; I shall stop and conceal myself at a few leagues from hence, until my brother can rejoin me. Well! I can take you with me; we can conceal ourselves, and wait together." "But I shall not be allowed to go; I am almost a prisoner here." "As I am supposed to go in consequence of an order from the cardinal, no one will believe you are anxious to follow me." "Well?" "Well! the carriage is at the door, you bid me adieu, you get upon the step to embrace me a last time; my brother's servant, who comes to fetch me, is told how to proceed; he makes a sign to the postillion, and we set off at a gallop." "But D'Artagnan! D'Artagnan! if he should come." "Well! shall we not know it?" "How?" "Nothing more easy. We will send my brother's servant back to Bethune, and, as I told you we can trust in him, he shall assume a disguise, and place himself in front of the convent. If the emissaries of the cardinal arrive, he will take no notice; if they are M. d'Artagnan and his friends, he will bring them to us." "He knows them, then?" "Doubtless he does. Has he not seen M. d'Artagnan at my house?" "Oh! yes, yes, you are right; in this way all may go well - all may be for the best; but do not go far from this place." "Seven or eight leagues at most; we will keep on the frontiers, for instance; and at the first alarm we can leave France." "And what can we do there?" "Wait." "But if they come?" "My brother's carriage will be here first." "If I should happen to be at any distance from you when the carriage comes for you; at dinner or supper, for instance?" "Do one thing." "What is that?" "Tell your good superior, that in order that we may be as much together as possible, you beg her to allow you to take your meals with me." "Will she permit it?" "What inconvenience can it be to her?" "Oh, delightful! in this way we shall not be separated for an instant." "Well! go down to her then to make your request. I feel my head a little confused; I will take a turn in the garden." "Do; and where shall I find you?" "Here, within an hour." "Here, in an hour; oh! you are so kind! and I am so grateful!" "How can I avoid interesting myself for one who is so beautiful, and so amiable? Besides, are you not the beloved of one of my best friends?" "Dear D'Artagnan, oh! how he will thank you!" "I hope so. Now then, all is agreed; let us go down." "You are going into the garden?" "Yes." "Go along this corridor, down a little staircase and you are in it." "That will do - thank you!" And the two women parted, exchanging affectionate smiles. Milady had told the truth - her head was confused; for her ill-arranged plans clashed against each other like a chaos. She required to be alone in order to bring her thoughts a little in order. She saw vaguely into futurity; but she stood in need of a little silence and quiet to give all her ideas, at present in confusion, a distinct form and a regular plan. What was most pressing was, to get Madame Bonacieux away, and convey her to a place of safety, and there, matters so falling out, make her a hostage. Milady began to have doubts of the issue of this terrible duel, in which her enemies showed as much perseverance as she did inveterate animosity. Besides, she felt as we feel when a storm is coming on - that this issue was near, and could not fail to be terrible. The principal thing for her then was, as we have said, to keep Madame Bonacieux in her power. Madame Bonacieux was the very life of D'Artagnan; more than his life, was the life of the woman he loved; this was, in case of ill fortune, a means of treating and obtaining good conditions. Now, this point was settled: Madame Bonacieux, without any suspicion, accompanied her and, once concealed with her at Armentieres, it would be easy to make her believe that D'Artagnan was not come to Bethune. In a fortnight, at most, Rochefort would be back again; during that fortnight, besides, she should have time to think how she could best be revenged upon the four friends. She entertained no fear of being dull, thank God! for she should enjoy the sweetest pastime events could offer to a woman of her character - the perfecting of a cruel vengeance. While revolving all this in her mind, she cast her eyes around her, and arranged the topography of the garden in her head. Milady was like a good general, who contemplates at the same time victory and defeat, and who is quite prepared, according to the chances of the battle, to march forward, or to beat a retreat. At the end of an hour, she heard a soft voice calling her; it was Madame Bonacieux's. The good abbess had naturally consented to her request; and as a commencement, they were to sup together. On reaching the courtyard, they heard the noise of a carriage, which stopped at the gate. Milady listened. "Do you hear anything?" said she. "Yes, the rolling of a carriage." "It is the one my brother sends for us." "Oh! my God!" "Come; come! courage!" The bell of the convent gate was rung - milady was not mistaken. "Go up to your chamber," said she to Madame Bonacieux; "you have perhaps some jewels you would like to take with you." "I have his letters," said she. "Well! go and fetch them, and come to my apartment; we will snatch some supper; we shall perhaps travel part of the night and must keep our strength up." "Great God!" said Madame Bonacieux, placing her hand upon her bosom: "my heart beats so I cannot walk." "Courage, my dear, courage! remember that in a quarter of an hour you will be safe; and think that what you are about to do is for his sake." "Yes, yes, everything for his sake. You have restored my courage by a single word; go up, I will be with you directly." Milady ran up to her apartment quickly; she there found Rochefort's lackey and gave him his instructions. He was to wait at the gate; if, by chance, the musketeers should appear, the carriage was to set off as fast as possible pass round the convent, and go and wait for milady at a little village which was situated at the other side of the wood. In this case milady was to cross the garden and gain the village on foot. We have already said milady was perfectly acquainted with this part of France. If the musketeers did not appear, things were to go on as had been agreed; Madame Bonacieux was to get into the carriage as if to bid her adieu, and she was to take away Madame Bonacieux. Madame Bonacieux came in; and, to remove all suspicion, if she had any, milady repeated to the lackey, before her, the latter part of her instructions. Milady made some questions about the carriage; it was a chaise with three horses, driven by a postilion; Rochefort's lackey preceded it, as a courier. Milady was wrong in fearing that Madame Bonacieux would have any suspicions; the poor young woman was too pure to suppose that any female could be guilty of such perfidy; besides, the name of the Countess de Winter, which she had heard the abbess pronounce, was perfectly unknown to her, and she was even ignorant that a woman had had so great and so fatal a share in the misfortune of her life. "You see," said she, when the lackey was gone out, everything is ready. The abbess suspects nothing, and believes that I am fetched by the orders of the cardinal. The man is gone to give his last orders; take a mouthful to eat, drink half a glass of wine, and let us be gone." "Yes," said Madame Bonacieux mechanically; "let us be gone." Milady made her a sign to sit down before her, poured out a small glass of Spanish wine for her, and helped her to the wing of a chicken. "See!" said she, "if everything is not propitious; here is night coming on; by daybreak we shall have gained our retreat, and nobody can have any suspicion where we are. Come, courage - take something." Madame Bonacieux ate a few mouthfuls mechanically, and just touched the glass with her lips. "Come! come!" said milady, lifting hers to her mouth, "do as I do." But, at the moment the glass touched her lips, her hand remained suspended; she heard something on the road which sounded like the rattling of a distant gallop, and which drew nearer; and, almost at the same time, she heard the neighing of horses. This noise acted upon her joy like the storm which awakens the sleeper in the midst of a happy dream; she grew pale, and ran to the window, while Madame Bonacieux, rising all in a tremble, supported herself upon her chair to avoid falling. Nothing was yet to be seen, only they heard the galloping draw nearer. "Oh! my God!" said Madame Bonacieux, "what is that noise?" "That of either our friends or our enemies," said milady, with her terrible coolness; "stay where you are, I will tell you." Madame Bonacieux remained standing, mute, motionless, and pale as a statue. The noise became stronger, the horses could not be more than a hundred paces distant; if they were not yet to be seen, it was because the road made an elbow. The noise became so distinct that the horses might be counted by the sound of their hoofs. Milady looked as if her eyes would start; it was just light enough to allow her to see those who were coming. All at once, at the turning of the road, she saw the glitter of laced hats and the waving of feathers; she counted two, then five, then eight horsemen; one of them preceded the rest by double the length of his horse Milady uttered a stifled groan. In the first horseman she recognized D'Artagnan. "Oh! heavens! oh! heavens!" cried Madame Bonacieux, "what is it? what is it?" "What is the uniform of the cardinal's guards, not an instant to be lost. Let us fly, let us fly!" "Oh! yes! let us fly!" repeated Madame Bonacieux, but without being able to make a step, fixed to the spot she stood on by terror. They heard the horsemen pass under the windows. "Come, then! why, come then!" cried milady, endeavoring to drag her along by the arm. "Thanks to the garden, we yet can fly; I have the key; but make haste! in five minutes it will be too late!" Madame Bonacieux endeavored to walk, made two steps, and sank upon her knees. Milady endeavored to raise and carry her, but could not succeed. At this moment they heard the rolling of the carriage, which at the approach of the musketeers, set off at a gallop. Then three or four shots were fired. "For the last time, will you come?" cried milady. "Oh heavens! oh heavens you see my strength fails me, you see plainly I cannot walk: fly alone!" "Fly alone! and leave you here! no, no, never!" cried milady. All at once she remained still, a livid flash darted from her eyes; she ran to the table, poured into Madame Bonacieux's glass the contents of a ring, which she opened with singular quickness. It was a grain of a reddish color, which melted immediately. Then, taking the glass with a firm hand: "Drink, said she, "this wine will give you strength, drink!" And she put the glass to the lips of the young woman, who drank mechanically. "This is not the way that I wished to avenge myself," said milady, replacing the glass upon the table with an infernal smile, "but, ma foi! we do what we can!" And she rushed out of the room. Madame Bonacieux saw her go without being able to follow her; she was like those people who dream they are pursued, and who in vain endeavor to walk. A few moments passed, a great noise was heard at the gate; every instant Madame Bonacieux expected to see milady; but she did not return. Several times, with terror, no doubt, the cold sweat burst from her burning brow. At length she heard the grating of the hinges of the opening gates, the noise of boots spurs resounded on the stairs; there was a great murmur of voices, which continued to draw near, and among which it appeared to her she heard her own name pronounced. All at once she uttered a loud cry of joy, and darted toward the door, she had recognized the voice of D'Artagnan. "D'Artagnan! D'Artagnan!" cried she, "is it you? This way! this way!" "Constance! Constance!" replied the young man, "where are you? where are you?" At the same moment, the door of the cell yielded to a shock, rather than was opened; several men rushed into the chamber; Madame Bonacieux had sunk into a fauteuil, without the power of moving. D'Artagnan threw a yet smoking pistol from his hand, and fell on his knees before his mistress; Athos replaced his in his belt; Porthos and Aramis, who held their drawn swords in their hands, returned them to their scabbards. "Oh! D'Artagnan! my beloved D'Artagnan! thou art come, then, at last, thou hast not deceived me! it is indeed thee!" "Yes, yes, dear Constance! united at last!" "Oh! it was in vain she told me you would not come. I hoped silently; I was not willing to fly; oh! how rightly I have done! how happy I am!" At this word she, Athos, who had seated himself quietly, started up. "She! what she?" asked D'Artagnan. "Why, my companions; she who, from friendship for me, wished to take me from my persecutors, she who, mistaking you for the cardinal's guards, has just fled away." "Your companion!" cried D'Artagnan, becoming more pale than the white veil of his mistress, "of what companion are you speaking, dear Constance?" "Of her whose carriage was at the gate, of a woman who calls herself your friend, of a woman to whom you have told everything." "But her name, her name!" cried D'Artagnan; "my God! can you not remember her name?" "Yes, it was pronounced before me once; stop - but - it is very strange - oh! my God! my head swims - I cannot see!" "Help! help! my friends! her hands are icy cold," cried D'Artagnan, "she will faint! great God, she is losing her senses!" While Porthos was calling for help with all the power of his strong voice, Aramis ran to the table to get a glass of water; but he stopped at seeing the horrible alteration that had taken place in the countenance of Athos, who, standing before the table, his hair rising from his head, his eyes fixed in stupor, was looking at one of the glasses and appeared a prey to the most horrible doubt. "Oh!" said Athos, "oh! no, it is impossible! God would not permit such a crime!" "Water! water!" cried D'Artagnan, "water!" "Oh! poor woman! poor woman!" murmured Athos, in a broken voice. Madame Bonacieux opened her eyes under the kisses of D'Artagnan. "She revives!" cried the young man. "Oh! my God! my God! I thank thee!" "Madame!" said Athos, "madame, in the name of heaven, whose empty glass is this?" "Mine, monsieur," said the young woman in a dying voice. "But who poured out the wine for you that was in this glass?" "She." "But who was she?" "Oh! I remember," said Madame Bonacieux, "the Count, ess de Winter." The four friends uttered one and the same cry, but that of Athos dominated over all the rest. At that moment the countenance of Madame Bonacieux became livid, a fearful agony pervaded her frame, and she sank panting into the arms of Porthos and Aramis. D'Artagnan seized the hands of Athos with an anguish difficult to be described. "What! what! do you believe?" His voice was stifled by sobs. "I believe everything," said Athos, biting his lips till the blood sprang, to avoid sighing. "D'Artagnan! D'Artagnan! where art thou? Do not quit me, thou seest that I am dying!" cried Madame Bonacieux. D'Artagnan let fall the hands of Athos which he still held clasped in both his own, and hastened to her. Her beautiful face was distorted with agony, her glassy eyes were fixed, a convulsive shuddering shook her whole body, the sweat flowed from her brow. "In the name of heaven, run, call; Aramis! Porthos! call for help!" "Useless!" said Athos, "useless! for the poison which she pours out there is no counter-poison!" "Yes! yes! help! help!" murmured Madame Bonacieux, "help!" Then, collecting all her strength, she took the head of the young man between her hands, looked at him for an instant as if her whole soul passed in that look, and, with a sobbing cry, pressed her lips to his. "Constance! Constance!" cried D'Artagnan wildly. A sigh escaped from the mouth of Madame Bonacieux, and dwelt for an instant on the lips of D'Artagnan - that sigh was the soul so chaste and so loving reascending to heaven. D'Artagnan held nothing but a corpse pressed in his arms. The young man uttered a cry and fell by the side of his mistress as pale and as senseless as she was. Porthos wept, Aramis pointed toward heaven, Athos made the sign of the cross. At that moment a man appeared in the doorway almost as pale as those in the chamber, looked round him and saw Madame Bonacieux dead, and D'Artagnan fainting. He appeared just at that moment of stupor which follows great catastrophes. "I was not deceived," said he; "here is M. d'Artagnan, and you are his friends, Messieurs Athos, Porthos, and Aramis." The persons whose names were thus pronounced looked at the stranger with astonishment, all three thought they knew him. "Gentlemen," resumed the newcomer, "you are, as I am, in search of a woman, who," added he, with a terrible smile, "must have passed this way, for I see a corpse!" The three friends remained mute, for although the voice as well as the countenance reminded them of some one they had seen, they could not remember under what circumstances. "Gentlemen," continued the stranger, "since you do not recognize a man who probably owes his life to you twice, I must name myself; I am the Lord de Winter, brother-in-law of that woman." The three friends uttered a cry of surprise. Athos rose, and offering him his hand: "You are welcome, milord," said he, "you are one of us." "I set out five hours after her from Portsmouth," said Lord de Winter. "I arrived three hours after her at Boulogne, I missed her by twenty minutes at St. Omer; at last at Lilliers I lost all trace of her. I was going about at hazard, inquiring of everybody, when I saw you gallop past; I recognized M. d'Artagnan. I called to you, but you did not answer me; I wished to follow you, but my horse was too much fatigued to permit me to overtake you. And yet, it appears that in spite of all your diligence you have arrived too late." "You see!" said Athos, pointing to Madame Bonacieux dead, and to D'Artagnan, whom Porthos and Aramis were endeavoring to recall to life. "Are they then both dead?" asked Lord de Winter sternly. "No," replied Athos, "fortunately M. d'Artagnan has only fainted." "Ah! I am glad to hear that!" said Lord de Winter. At that moment D'Artagnan opened his eyes. He tore himself from the arms of Porthos and Aramis, and threw himself like a madman on the corpse of his mistress. Athos rose, walked toward his friend with a slow and solemn step, embraced him tenderly, and as he burst into violent sobs, he said to him, with his noble and persuasive voice: "Friend, be a man! women weep for the dead, men avenge them!" "Oh, yes!" cried D'Artagnan, "yes! if it be to avenge her, I am ready to follow you." Athos took advantage of this moment of strength which the hope of vengeance restored to his unfortunate friend, to make a sign to Porthos and Aramis to go and fetch the superior. They met her in the corridor, in great trouble and agitation at such strange events; she called for some of the nuns, who against all rules, found themselves in the presence of five men. "Madame," said Athos, passing his arm under that of D'Artagnan, "we abandon to your pious care the body of that unfortunate woman. She was an angel on earth before being an angel in heaven. Treat her as one of your sisters. We will return some day to pray over her grave!" D'Artagnan concealed his face in the bosom of Athos, and sobbed aloud. "Weep!" said Athos, "weep! thou poor heart, full of love, youth, and life! Alas! would that I were able to weep as thou dost!" And he drew away his friend, affectionate as a father, consoling as a priest, great as a man who has suffered much. All five, followed by their lackeys, leading their horses, took their way to the town of Bethune, whose faubourg they perceived, and stopped before the first auberge they came to. "But," said D'Artagnan, "shall we not pursue that woman?" "Presently," said Athos; "I have measures to take." "She will escape us," replied the young man; "she will escape us; and it will be your fault, Athos." "I will be accountable for her," said Athos. D'Artagnan had so much confidence in the word of his friend, that he hung down his head, and entered the auberge, without making a reply. Porthos and Aramis looked at each other without comprehending whence Athos derived this assurance. Lord de Winter believed he spoke in this manner to soothe the grief of D'Artagnan. "Now, gentlemen," said Athos, when he had ascertained there were five chambers disengaged in the hotel, "let every one retire to his own apartment; D'Artagnan requires to be alone, to weep and to sleep. I take charge of everything, be all of you at ease." "It appears, however," said Lord de Winter, "that if there be any measure to be taken against the countess, it particularly concerns me: she is my sister-in-law." "And I," said Athos - "she is my wife!" D'Artagnan smiled, for he was satisfied Athos was sure of his vengeance, when he revealed such a secret as that; Porthos and Aramis looked at each other, and changed color. Lord de Winter thought Athos was mad. "Now, all retire to your chambers," said Athos, "and leave me to act. You must perceive that in my quality of a husband this concerns me in particular. Only, D'Artagnan, if you have not lost it, give me the piece of paper which fell from that man's hat, upon which is written the name of the village of - " "Ah!" said D'Artagnan, "I comprehend now; that name written in her hand." "You see, then," said Athos, "there is a God in heaven, still!"