The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [186]
Milady, who seemed drunk with joy, made Kitty repeat the smallest details of her supposed interview with de Vardes: how had he received the letter, how had he responded, what was the expression on his face, had he appeared to be truly amorous, and the rest. To all these questions poor Kitty, forced to put on a pleasant countenance, replied in a choked voice. But so selfish is happiness that her mistress did not even notice Kitty’s doleful accents.
Finally, as the hour of her meeting with de Vardes approached, Milady had all the lights about her extinguished, ordered Kitty back to her own room, and instructed her to introduce de Vardes as soon as he arrived.
Kitty did not have long to wait. The moment D’Artagnan perceived through the keyhole of his wardrobe that the whole apartment was in obscurity, he slipped out from his hiding place just as Kitty was closing the communicating door.
“What is that noise?” Milady demanded.
“It is I,” said D’Artagnan, in a low voice. “I, the Comte de Vardes.”
“Oh, my God, my God!” Kitty murmured, “he couldn’t even bear to wait for the hour he himself had named.”
“Well,” Milady’s voice trembled with desire, “why don’t you come in?” Then: “Come in, Comte,” she repeated, “you know I await you.”
At this appeal, D’Artagnan drew Kitty gently to one side and stole into Milady’s chamber.
Rage and sorrow can torture the soul in many ways but the worst way, surely, is when a lover receives under a name which is not his own the declarations of love meant for his fortunate rival. D’Artagnan found himself in a painful situation which he had not foreseen. Jealousy gnawed at his heart; and he suffered almost as much as poor Kitty who at that very moment was weeping bitterly in the adjoining room.
“Oh, Comte, Comte,” Milady said in her softest, warmest tone as she pressed his hand in her own, “how happy I am in the love which your glances and words have expressed whenever we have met. I too love you! Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow I must have some token from you which will prove that you are thinking of me. For my part, lest you be tempted to forget me, pray take this, pledge of my abiding love.”
With which she slipped a ring from her finger on to D’Artagnan’s. D’Artagnan knew this ring well, for he had often seen it on Milady’s hand; it was a magnificent sapphire encircled with brilliants. His first reaction was to return it, but Milady refused.
“No, no, keep this ring for love of me. Besides,” she added in a voice tremulous with emotion, “by accepting it, you do me a favor greater than you could possibly imagine.”
(“This woman is replete with mystery,” D’Artagnan thought. For a moment he was tempted to reveal everything. He even opened his mouth, prepared to tell Milady who he was and with what a revengeful purpose he had come to her bed.)
“Poor angel!” she continued. “That Gascon monster all but slew you, didn’t he?” (“I, a monster?” D’Artagnan wondered.) “Are your wounds still painful?” she concluded.
At loss for an effective answer, D’Artagnan assured her that he was in considerable physical distress.
“Set your mind at rest,” Milady murmured, “I myself will avenge you—and cruelly!”
“A pox on it!” D’Artagnan thought. “The moment for confidences has not yet come.”
It took D’Artagnan some time to recover from the effects of this brief dialogue, but nevertheless all his plans of immediate vengeance had completely vanished. This woman exerted an unaccountable power over him; he hated her with all the bitterness of offended pride and he loved her with all the fervor of desire unsatisfied. He had never imagined that such conflicting emotions could dwell at once in the same heart and, blending, kindle so strange and so diabolical a lust.
At length the clock struck one, and it was time for him to go. His only feeling as he left Milady was one of sharp regret. Amid the passionate farewells they exchanged, another meeting was appointed for the following week. The luckless Kitty, who had hoped to speak a few words to D’Artagnan