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Chapter LIII
Chapter LIII
The Second Day Of Captivity
Milady dreamed that she at length had D`Artagnan in her power, that she
was present at his execution, and it was the sight of his odious blood,
flowing beneath the axe of the executioner, which spread that charming smile
upon her lips.
She slept as a prisoner sleeps who is rocked by his first hope.
In the morning, when they entered her chamber, she was still in bed.
Felton remained in the corridor; he brought with him the woman of whom he had
spoken the evening before, and who had just arrived; this woman entered, and
approaching milady`s bed, offered her services.
Milady was habitually pale; her complexion might therefore deceive a
person who saw her for the first time.
"I am in a fever," said she; "I have not slept a single instant during
all this long night - I am in frightful pain: are you likely to be more
humane to me than others were to me yesterday? All I ask is, permission to
remain in bed."
"Would you like to have a physician sent for?" said the woman.
Felton listened to this dialogue without speaking a word.
Milady reflected that the more people she had around her, the more she
should have to work upon, and the more strict would be the watch Lord de
Winter kept over her; besides, the physician might declare the malady was
feigned, and milady, after having lost the first trick of the game, was not
willing to lose the second.
"Go and fetch a physician!" said she; "what could be the good of that?
These gentlemen declared yesterday that my illness was a comedy; it would be
just the same to-day, no doubt; for, since yesterday evening they have had
plenty of time to send for a doctor."
"Then," said Felton, who became impatient, "say yourself, madame, what
treatment you wish to be pursued."
"Eh! how can I tell? My God! I know that I am in pain, that`s all:
give me anything you like, it is of very little consequence to me."
"Go and fetch Lord de Winter," said Felton, tired of these eternal
complaints.
"Oh! no, no!" cried milady; "no, sir, do not call him, I conjure you.
I am well, I want nothing; do not call him."
She gave so much vehemence, such prevailing eloquence to this
exclamation, that Felton, in spite of himself, advanced some steps into the
room.
"He is come!" thought milady.
"If you really are in pain," said Felton, "a physician shall be sent
for; and if you deceive us, well! why it will be the worse for you, but at
least we shall not have to reproach ourselves with anything."
Milady made no reply, but turning her beautiful head round upon her
pillow, she burst into tears, and uttered heart-breaking sobs.
Felton surveyed her for an instant with his usual impassability; then,
seeing that the crisis threatened to be prolonged, he went out; the woman
followed him, and Lord de Winter did not appear.
"I fancy I begin to see my way," murmured milady, with a savage joy,
burying herself under the clothes to conceal from anybody who might be
watching her this burst of inward satisfaction.
Two hours passed away.
"Now it is time that the malady should be over," said she; "let me rise,
and obtain some success this very day; I have but ten days, and this evening
two of them will be gone."
In the morning, when the woman and Felton came, they had brought her
breakfast; now she thought they could not be long before they came to clear
the table, and that Felton would then come back.
Milady was not deceived: Felton reappeared, and without observing
whether she had or had not touched her repast, he made a sign that the table
should be carried out of the room, it being brought in ready covered.
Felton remained behind: he held a book in his hand.
Milady, reclining in a fauteuil, near the chimney, beautiful, pale, and
resigned, looked like a holy virgin awaiting martyrdom.
Felton approached her, and said:
"Lord de Winter, who is a Catholic, as well as yourself, madame,
thinking that the privation of the rites and ceremonies of your church might
be painful to you, has consented that you should read every day the ordinary
of your mass, and here is a book which contains the ritual of it."
At the manner in which Felton laid the book upon the little table near
which my lady was sitting, at the tone in which he pronounced the two words,
your mass, at the disdainful smile which he accompanied them, milady raised
her head, and looked more attentively at the officer.
Then, by that plain arrangement of the hair, by that costume of extreme
simplicity, by the brow polished like marble, but as hard and impenetrable
as it, she recognized one of those dark Puritans she had so often met with,
as well at the court of King James as that of the king of France, where, in
spite of the remembrance of the Saint Bartholomew, they sometimes came to
seek refuge.
She then had one of those sudden inspirations which people of genius
alone have in great crises, in supreme moments which are to decide their
fortunes or their lives.
Those two words, your mass, and a simple glance cast upon Felton,
revealed to her all the importance of the reply she was about to make.
But, with that rapidity of intelligence which was peculiar to her, this
reply, ready arranged, presented itself to her lips:
"I!" said she, with an accent of disdain in unison with that which she
had remarked in the voice of the young officer, "I, sir; my mass! Lord de
Winter, the corrupted Catholic, knows very well that I am not of his
religion, and this is a snare he wishes to lay for me!"
"And of what religion are you, then, madame?" asked Felton, with an
astonishment which, in spite of the empire he held over himself, he could not
entirely conceal.
"I will tell it," cried milady, with a feigned exultation, "on the day
when I shall have suffered sufficiently for my faith."
The look of Felton revealed to milady the full extent of the space she
had opened for herself by this single word.
The young officer, however, remained mute and motionless; his look alone
had spoken.
"I am in the hands of mine enemies," continued she, with that tone of
enthusiasm which she knew was familiar to the Puritans: "well, let my God
save me, or let me perish for my God! That is the reply I beg you to make
to Lord de Winter. And as to this book," added she, pointing to the ritual
with her finger, but without touching it, as if she must be contaminated by
the touch, "you may carry it back and make use of it yourself; for,
doubtless, you are doubly the accomplice of Lord de Winter; the accomplice
in his persecutions, the accomplice in his heresies."
Felton made no reply, took the book with the same appearance of
repugnance which he had before manifested, and retired pensively.
Lord de Winter came toward five o`clock in the evening; milady had had
time, during the whole day, to trace her plan of conduct. She received him
like a woman who had already recovered all her advantages.
"It appears," said the baron, seating himself in the fauteuil opposite
to that occupied by milady, and stretching out his legs carelessly upon the
hearth, "it appears we have made a little apostasy!"
"What do you mean, sir?"
"I mean to say that, since we last met, you have changed your religion;
you have not, by chance, married a Protestant for a third husband, have you?"
"Explain yourself, my lord," replied the prisoner, with majesty; "for,
though I hear your words, I declare I do not understand them."
"Then it is, that you have no religion at all; I like that best,"
replied Lord de Winter, laughing.
"It is certain that that is the most accordant with your own
principles," replied milady coldly.
"Well, I confess it is all perfectly the same to me."
"Oh! you need not avow this religious indifference, my lord, your
debaucheries and crimes would gain credit for it."
"What! you talk of debaucheries, Madame Messalina! Lady Macbeth!
Either I misunderstand you, or pardieu! you are pretty impudent!"
"You only speak thus because you know you are listened to, sir," coldly
replied milady; "and you wish to interest your gaolers and your hangmen
against me."
"My gaolers! and my hangmen! Heyday, madame! you are getting quite
into a poetical tone, and the comedy of yesterday is turning this evening to
a tragedy. As to the rest, in eight days you will be where you ought to be,
and my task will be completed."
"Infamous task! impious task!" cried milady, with the exultation of a
victim provoking the judge.
"Parole d`honneur!" said De Winter, rising, "I think the hussey is going
mad! Come, come, calm yourself, Madame Puritan, or I`ll remove you to a
dungeon. Pardieu! it`s my Spanish wine that has got into your head, is it
not? But, never mind, that sort of intoxication is not dangerous, and will
have no consequences."
And Lord de Winter retired swearing, which at that period was a very
cavalier-like habit.
Felton was, in fact, behind the door, and had not lost one word of this
scene.
Milady had guessed as much.
"Yes, go! go!" said she to her brother; "the consequences are drawing
near, on the contrary; but you, weak fool! will not see them until it will
be too late to shun them."
Silence was re-established - two hours passed away; milady`s supper was
brought in, and she was found deeply engaged in saying her prayers aloud;
prayers which she had learned of an old servant of her second husband, a most
austere Puritan. She appeared to be in ecstasy, and did not pay the least
attention to what was going on around her. Felton made a sign that she
should not be disturbed; and when all was arranged, he went out quietly with
the soldiers.
Milady knew she might be watched, so she continued her prayers to the
end; and it appeared to her that the soldier who was on duty at her door did
not march with the same step, and seemed to listen.
For the moment she required no more; she arose, placed herself at table,
ate but little, and drank only water.
An hour after, her table was cleared; but milady remarked that this time
Felton did not accompany the soldiers.
He feared, then, to see her too often.
She turned toward the wall to smile; for there was in this smile such
an expression of triumph that this single smile would have betrayed her.
She allowed, therefore, half an hour to pass away; and as at that moment
all was silence in the old castle, as nothing was heard but the eternal
murmur of the waves - that immense respiration of the ocean - with her pure,
harmonious, and powerful voice, she began the first couplet of the psalm then
in greater favor with the Puritans:
"Thou leavest thy servants, Lord!
To see if they be strong,
But soon thou dost afford
Thy hand to conduct them along."
These verses were not excellent - very far from it, even; but, as it is
well known, the Puritans did not pique themselves upon their poetry.
While singing, milady listened. The soldier on guard at her door
stopped, as if he had been changed into stone. Milady was then able to judge
of the effect she had produced.
Then she continued her singing with inexpressible fervor and feeling;
it appeared to her that the sounds spread to a distance beneath the vaulted
roofs, and carried with them a magic charm to soften the hearts of her
gaolers. It, however, likewise appeared that the soldier on duty - a zealous
Catholic, no doubt, shook off the charm, for through the door -
"Hold your tongue, madame!" said he; "your song is as dismal as a De
profundis; and if, besides the pleasure of being in garrison here, we must
hear such things as these, no mortal can hold out."
"Silence!" then said another stern voice, which milady recognized as
that of Felton; "what business is it of yours, you stupid fellow! Did
anybody order you to prevent that woman from singing? No; you were told to
guard her - to fire at her if she attempted to fly. Keep her there; if she
flies, kill her; but don`t exceed your orders."
An expression of unspeakable joy lightened the countenance of milady,
but this expression was fleeting as the reflection of lightning, and, without
appearing to have heard the dialogue, of which she had not lost a word, she
began again, giving to her voice all the charm, all the power, all the
seduction, the demon had bestowed upon it:
"For all my tears and all my cares,
My exile and my chains,
I have my youth, I have my prayers,
And God who counts my pains."
Her voice, of immense power and of sublime expression, gave to the rude,
unpolished poetry of these psalms a magic and an effect which the most
exalted Puritans rarely found in the songs of their brethren, and which they
were forced to ornament with all the resources of their imagination. Felton
believed he heard the singing of the angel who consoled the three Hebrews in
the furnace.
Milady continued:
"But the day of our liberation
Will come, just and powerful Sire!
And if it cheat our expectation,
To death and martyrdom we can still aspire."
This verse, into which the terrible enchantress threw her whole soul,
completed the trouble which had seized the heart of the young officer; he
opened the door quickly, and milady saw him appear, pale as usual, but with
his eyes inflamed and almost wild.
"Why do you sing thus, and with such a voice?" said he.
"I crave your pardon, sir," said my lady, with mildness; "I forgot that
my songs are out of place in this mansion. I have, perhaps, offended you in
your religious opinions; but it was without wishing to do so, I assure you.
Pardon me, then, a fault which is perhaps great, but which certainly was
involuntary."
Milady was so beautiful at this moment - the religious ecstasy in which
she appeared to be plunged gave such an expression to her countenance, that
Felton was so dazzled that he fancied he beheld the angel whom he had just
before only heard.
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"Yes, yes," said he, "you disturb - you agitate the people who inhabit
the castle."
And the poor, senseless young man was not aware of the incoherence of
his words, while milady was reading, with her lynx`s eyes, the very depths
of his heart.
"I will be silent then," said milady, casting down her eyes, with all
the sweetness she could give to her voice, with all the resignation she could
impress upon her manner.
"No, no, madame," said Felton; "only do not sing so loud, particularly
at night."
And at these words Felton, feeling that he could not long maintain his
severity toward his prisoner, rushed out of the room.
"You have done right, lieutenant," said the soldier "such songs disturb
the mind; and yet we become accustomed to them - her voice is so beautiful!"
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