The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [226]
“Tell me, Monsieur,” Milady said in a faint, hollow voice, “what brings you back to me? What do you want?”
“First, I must inform you that while I have remained out of your sight, I have kept an eye on you.”
“You know what has happened to me?”
“I can tell you what you have been doing, day by day ever since you entered the service of the Cardinal.”
A smile of incredulity fluttered across Milady’s pallid lips.
“So you doubt me, eh?” Athos smiled ironically. “Well, listen carefully, Milady. I know it was you who cut off the two diamond studs from the shoulder of the Duke of Buckingham . . . it was you who contrived the abduction of Madame Bonacieux . . . it was you who, in love with de Vardes and thinking to spend the night with him, opened your door and bed to Monsieur d’Artagnan . . . it was you who, believing de Vardes had deceived you, tried to have him killed by his rival . . . when this rival discovered your infamous secret, it was you who sought to have him killed by two murderers you sent in pursuit . . . when the bullets missed him, it was you who attempted to poison him by means of a case of Anjou wine and a forged letter . . . and it was you who a few moments ago sat in this chair I now occupy and promised the Cardinal to murder the Duke of Buckingham in exchange for his permission to let you assassinate D’Artagnan. . . .”
Milady turned livid.
“You must be Satan!” she murmured.
“Possibly I am,” Athos replied jauntily, “but Satan or not, let me tell you this: you may murder Buckingham or have him murdered, it is all one to me. I do not know His Grace and anyhow he is an Englishman. But if you lay one finger on one hair of D’Artagnan’s head, I swear by God and by the memory of my father that it will be your last gesture.”
“But, Monsieur—”
“There are no buts.”
“But Monsieur d’Artagnan offended me cruelly,” Milady objected in low, throaty tones. “Monsieur d’Artagnan shall die.”
“Is it really possible to offend you, Madame?” he asked. “So my friend ‘offended’ you and must pay for it with his life?”
“Exactly. First your friend, then the Bonacieux creature.”
Athos felt his head spinning. The sight of this beautiful woman, a monster at heart, filled him with loathing. Memories of her fascination and villainy rose within him. He recalled how in less dangerous times he had once wished to sacrifice her to his honor. Suddenly his desire to destroy her coursed feverishly through him; he rose, drew a pistol from his belt and cocked it carefully. Milady, pale as a corpse, tried to cry out but her swollen tongue failed her. Hoarsely she groaned like a wild beast. Standing immobile, etched against the dark tapestry, her hair disheveled, she looked for all the world like the incarnation of terror. Slowly Athos raised his pistol, stretched out his arm so that the weapon almost touched Milady’s forehead and in a voice the more terrible because so calm and so resolute:
“Madame,” he said, “you will this instant give me the paper the Cardinal signed or upon my soul I will blow your brains out.”
With any other man Milady might have preserved some doubt, attempted to parley or tried to evade the issue. With Athos she knew this was useless. Yet she stood motionless.
“Madame,” Athos warned, “you have exactly five seconds in which to make up your mind.”
By his frown and the contraction of his features Milady knew that he was in deadly earnest. One second—two—three—and she reached quickly into her bosom, drew out a paper and handed it to Athos.
“Here it is,” she snarled, “and be damned to you!”
Athos took the paper, restored the pistol to his belt, drew up the lamp to make sure it was the proper document, and read:
December third, 1627
It is by my order and for the service of the State that the bearer of this note has done what he has done.
Signed by my hand at the Camp of La Rochelle
Richelieu
Satisfied, Athos put on his cloak again, crammed his hat on his head and without vouchsafing her a glance: