The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [246]
It was one of those rare, beautiful winter days when England remembers that there is a sun over the island. The star of day, pale yet splendent, was sinking on the horizon, turning sea and firmament roseate with bands of fire and casting upon the towers and old houses of the city one last golden ray which made the windows sparkle like the reflection of a conflagration; Milady, breathing the sea-breeze, found it much more invigorating and softer as they approached land. Avidly she contemplated all these preparations which she was commissioned to destroy, all the might of this army which she, a woman, was to combat alone with the help of a few bags of gold. Looking out across the water, she compared herself mentally to Judith, the terrible Jewess, when she penetrated the camp of the Assyrians and beheld the enormous mass of chariots, horses, men and arms which a gesture of her hand was to scatter like a cloud of smoke.
They entered the roadstead but as they were about to cast anchor a formidably armed little cutter, apparently on coast guard duty, approached the merchantman. A few moments later the cutter put out a rowboat manned by a naval officer, a mate and eight oarsmen; as it reached the ladder of the merchantman, only the officer came on board, where he was received with all the deference due his uniform.
The officer conversed for a few moments with the skipper, showed him several papers he was carrying and then, at the skipper’s order, both crew and passengers were summoned on deck.
When this had been done the officer inquired aloud about the brig’s port of departure, its route and its landings; the skipper answered all these questions without hesitation or difficulty. Next the officer began to examine all the persons on deck, one after the other, and stopping when he came to Milady, he surveyed her intently but without uttering a word.
Then returning to the skipper, he spoke to him again very briefly and, as if from that moment the vessel was under his command, he ordered a manoeuvre which the crew executed immediately. The brig resumed its course, still escorted by the little cutter which sailed alongside, menacing it with the mouths of its six cannon. The rowboat followed in the wake of the brig, a mere speck beside this enormous mass.
While the officer had been scrutinizing Milady, she for her part was scrutinizing him quite as thoroughly. Yet despite the extraordinary power this woman with eyes of flame commanded when it came to reading the hearts of those whose secrets she wished to divine, on this occasion she met with a countenance so impassive that her investigation proved fruitless. The officer who had stopped in front of her and studied her silently with so much care, was about twenty-five years old. He was of pale complexion, with clear blue eyes, rather deeply set . . . his fine well-chiseled mouth remained cast in its natural lines . . . his strong, bold chin denoted that will power which, in the ordinary British type, indicates mere obstinacy . . . his brow, slightly receding as is proper for poets, enthusiasts and soldiers, was scantily shaded by short, thin hair . . . the beard covering the lower part of his face, was, like his hair, of a beautiful deep chestnut color. . . .
When they entered the harbor, night had already fallen. The fog increased the darkness and, falling on the ship’s lights and lanterns of the jetties, formed a circle like that on the moon when rain threatens. The atmosphere was dank, cold and dismal. Milady, courageous though she was, shivered in spite of herself.
The officer pointed to Milady’s baggage, had it placed in the rowboat, and invited her to descend by offering her his hand. She looked at him hesitantly.
“Who are you, Sir,” she asked, “and why are you so kind as to trouble yourself