The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [263]
Knowing she might be watched, Milady continued her prayers to the end. It seemed to her, as clearly as she could judge under the circumstances, that the sentry halted occasionally to listen to her. For the time being nothing could have pleased her better. She rose, stepped toward the table, ate but scantily and drank only water. An hour later the orderly came to remove the table. This time, Milady noted, Felton did not accompany him.
Immensely excited, she realized it was because he feared to see her too often. She turned toward the wall to smile triumphantly, conscious that her mere expression would have betrayed her hypocrisy.
She allowed a half-hour to pass. Then, when all was silence in the old castle save for the eternal murmur of the waves as the vast sea broke against the rocks, she began to sing. In a pure, harmonious and vibrant voice, she chanted a psalm she knew to be in greatest favor with the Puritans at the time:
Lord Thou hast now forsaken us
To try our faith and strength,
Yet merciful and generous
Thou shalt forbear at length.
These verses were anything but poetic but the Puritans cared little for artistic ornament.
As she sang, Milady listened. The sentry on guard stopped; there was no more pacing outside her door. Congratulating herself upon the effect of her psalmody, she continued to sing with inexpressible feeling and fervor; the notes seemed to her to spread far down the corridor and to echo progressively, from vault to vault, bearing some magic charm to soften the hearts of her jailers. However the sentry, doubtless a zealous Roman Catholic, was presumably able to shake off the spell. For, through the door:
“Hold your tongue, Madame,” he enjoined. “Your song is as dismal as a De Profundis. It’s bad enough to be on duty here, but if we have to listen to such doldrum lamentation, it’s more than mortal man can bear.”
A stern voice broke in. Milady instantly recognized it as Felton’s:
“Hush, man! What business is this of yours, you rascal? Have you had orders to stop this woman singing? No: you were told to guard her and to fire on her if she attempted to escape. Very well, do as you were told and don’t let me catch you going beyond your orders.”
An expression of unspeakable joy illumined Milady’s countenance, but it was as fleeting as the reflection of a flash of lightning. Without appearing to have heard the dialogue, she continued to sing, summoning all the charm, power and seduction Satan had bestowed upon her voice:
Despite my tears, despite my cares,
My exile and my chains
I have my youth, my loving prayers
And God who knows my pains.
To the rude, unpolished poetry of this psalm, Milady’s voice lent a grace and an effect which the most impassioned Puritans, finding them seldom present in the songs of their brethren, had perforce to conjure up with all the resources of imagination. Felton would have vowed he was hearing that angel who brought consolation to the three Hebrews in the burning, fiery furnace. Milady continued:
Oh God, most powerful and just,
The day of our release must come,
We shall reach Heaven if so we must,
Or die in martyrdom.
This verse, into which this accomplished enchantress put all her passion, struck home. The young officer, thoroughly bewildered, flung open the door and stood there, pale as ever but with eyes aflame:
“Why are you singing?” he mumbled. “That voice . . . that voice of yours . . .”
“I crave your pardon, sir!” Milady was all humility, “I forgot that my songs are out of place in this house. Perhaps I offended you in your beliefs. But it was not purposely, I vow. Forgive me, then, for a wrong which may seem serious but which was certainly not intended.”
Milady was so beautiful at this moment and her religious ecstasy