Essential Novelists - Alexandre Dumas. Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.
before even he had asked if Milady were visible, one of them ran to announce him.
“Show him in,” said Milady, in a quick tone, but so piercing that d’Artagnan heard her in the antechamber.
He was introduced.
“I am at home to nobody,” said Milady; “observe, to nobody.” The servant went out.
D’Artagnan cast an inquiring glance at Milady. She was pale, and looked fatigued, either from tears or want of sleep. The number of lights had been intentionally diminished, but the young woman could not conceal the traces of the fever which had devoured her for two days.
D’Artagnan approached her with his usual gallantry. She then made an extraordinary effort to receive him, but never did a more distressed countenance give the lie to a more amiable smile.
To the questions which d’Artagnan put concerning her health, she replied, “Bad, very bad.”
“Then,” replied he, “my visit is ill-timed; you, no doubt, stand in need of repose, and I will withdraw.”
“No, no!” said Milady. “On the contrary, stay, Monsieur d’Artagnan; your agreeable company will divert me.”
“Oh, oh!” thought d’Artagnan. “She has never been so kind before. On guard!”
Milady assumed the most agreeable air possible, and conversed with more than her usual brilliancy. At the same time the fever, which for an instant abandoned her, returned to give luster to her eyes, color to her cheeks, and vermillion to her lips. D’Artagnan was again in the presence of the Circe who had before surrounded him with her enchantments. His love, which he believed to be extinct but which was only asleep, awoke again in his heart. Milady smiled, and d’Artagnan felt that he could damn himself for that smile. There was a moment at which he felt something like remorse.
By degrees, Milady became more communicative. She asked d’Artagnan if he had a mistress.
“Alas!” said d’Artagnan, with the most sentimental air he could assume, “can you be cruel enough to put such a question to me—to me, who, from the moment I saw you, have only breathed and sighed through you and for you?”
Milady smiled with a strange smile.
“Then you love me?” said she.
“Have I any need to tell you so? Have you not perceived it?”
“It may be; but you know the more hearts are worth the capture, the more difficult they are to be won.”
“Oh, difficulties do not affright me,” said d’Artagnan. “I shrink before nothing but impossibilities.”
“Nothing is impossible,” replied Milady, “to true love.”
“Nothing, madame?”
“Nothing,” replied Milady.
“The devil!” thought d’Artagnan. “The note is changed. Is she going to fall in love with me, by chance, this fair inconstant; and will she be disposed to give me myself another sapphire like that which she gave me for de Wardes?”
D’Artagnan rapidly drew his seat nearer to Milady’s.
“Well, now,” she said, “let us see what you would do to prove this love of which you speak.”
“All that could be required of me. Order; I am ready.”
“For everything?”
“For everything,” cried d’Artagnan, who knew beforehand that he had not much to risk in engaging himself thus.
“Well, now let us talk a little seriously,” said Milady, in her turn drawing her armchair nearer to d’Artagnan’s chair.
“I am all attention, madame,” said he.
Milady remained thoughtful and undecided for a moment; then, as if appearing to have formed a resolution, she said, “I have an enemy.”
“You, madame!” said d’Artagnan, affecting surprise; “is that possible, my God?—good and beautiful as you are!”
“A mortal enemy.”
“Indeed!”
“An enemy who has insulted me so cruelly that between him and me it is war to the death. May I reckon on you as an auxiliary?”
D’Artagnan at once perceived the ground which the vindictive creature wished to reach.
“You may, madame,” said he, with emphasis. “My arm and my life belong to you, like my love.”
“Then,” said Milady, “since you are as generous as you are loving—”
She stopped.
“Well?” demanded d’Artagnan.
“Well,” replied Milady, after a moment of silence, “from the present time, cease to talk of impossibilities.”
“Do not overwhelm me with happiness,” cried d’Artagnan, throwing himself on his knees, and covering with kisses the hands abandoned to him.
“Avenge me of that infamous de Wardes,” said Milady, between her teeth, “and I shall soon know how to get rid of you—you double idiot, you animated sword blade!”
“Fall voluntarily into my arms, hypocritical and dangerous woman,” said d’Artagnan, likewise to himself, “after having abused me with such effrontery, and afterward I will laugh at you with him whom you wish me to kill.”
D’Artagnan lifted up his head.
“I am ready,” said he.
“You have understood me, then, dear Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said Milady.
“I could interpret one of your looks.”
“Then you would employ for me your arm which has already acquired so much renown?”
“Instantly!”
“But on my part,” said Milady, “how should I repay such a service? I know these lovers. They are men who do nothing for nothing.”
“You know the only reply that I desire,” said d’Artagnan, “the only one worthy of you and of me!”
And he drew nearer to her.
She scarcely resisted.
“Interested man!” cried she, smiling.
“Ah,” cried d’Artagnan, really carried away by the passion this woman had the power to kindle in his heart, “ah, that is because my happiness appears so impossible to me; and I have such fear that it should fly away from me like a dream that I pant to make a reality of it.”
“Well, merit this pretended happiness, then!”
“I am at your orders,” said d’Artagnan.
“Quite certain?” said Milady, with a last doubt.
“Only name to me the base man that has brought tears into your beautiful eyes!”
“Who told you that I had been weeping?” said she.
“It appeared to me—”
“Such women as I never weep,” said Milady.
“So much the better! Come, tell me his name!”
“Remember that his name is all my secret.”
“Yet I must know his name.”
“Yes, you must; see what confidence I have in you!”
“You overwhelm me with joy. What is his name?”
“You know him.”
“Indeed.”