The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [264]
“Ay, Madame,” he mumbled, “you are troubling and exciting the people who are meant to watch over you.”
Nor did the witless young man gauge the incoherence of his words as Milady’s lynx eyes read into the depths of his heart.
“I shall not worship,” Milady said, her eyes downcast, her voice mellow, her attitude resigned. “I shall pray inwardly.”
“No, Madame, I beg you,” Felton said uncertainly, “But at night especially, pray do not sing so loud.”
And, feeling he could no longer maintain his severity toward such a prisoner, he took to his heels. As he walked down the corridor:
“You are right, Lieutenant,” the sentry said. “Such songs upset a body. And yet, heigh-ho! we get used to them, sir. The lady prisoner has a lovely voice!”
LIV
CAPTIVITY: THE THIRD DAY
Felton had come to see her, certainly, but there was still another step to take: Milady must detain him and they must remain together quite alone. At present she only sensed obscurely how to achieve this result.
There was even more to do: he must be made to speak in order to be spoken to. Milady knew very well that her greatest charm lay in her voice which, in its richness and variety ran the gamut of tones, from the speech of humans to the melopoeia of angels.
Yet despite her powers of seduction, Milady might well fail, for Felton was forewarned against the slightest hazard. From that moment on, she watched over her every gesture and her every word, from the simplest glance and the merest reflex down to her very breath, for a breath might well be interpreted as a sigh. In short, she studied every reaction of hers, much as a clever actor who has just been assigned a new rôle in a type of acting to which he is unaccustomed.
In so far as Lord Winter was concerned, her plan of conduct was easier; she had already determined upon it the night before. She would remain silent and dignified in his presence; now and again, she would irritate him by affected disdain or by a contemptuous word; she would provoke him to outbursts and threats that offered a contrast to her own resignation. Felton would see this; he might perhaps say nothing, but he would have seen everything.
Next morning Felton came as usual, but Milady allowed him to preside over all the preparations for breakfast without addressing a word to him. As he was about to withdraw, a ray of hope cheered her, for she fancied he was about to speak. But his lips moved without uttering a sound. With a powerful effort to control himself, he recommitted to his heart the words about to escape his lips and he left hastily.
Toward noon, Lord Winter entered. It was a rather fine winter’s day; a few rays of that pale English sunshine, which sparkles but does not warm, filtered through the prison bars. Milady, gazing out of the window, pretended not to hear the door as it opened.
“Well, well!” said Lord Winter, “after playing comedy and then tragedy I see we are now playing melancholy.”
The prisoner vouchsafed no reply.
“I understand,” Lord Winter went on. “Quite! How happy you would be to have the freedom of that shore! How happy to be on a fine ship cleaving the waves of that emerald-green sea! How happy, whether on land or water, to catch me in one of those nice little ambushes you are so adept at laying. Patience, patience! Only four days more and you shall feel the shore beneath your feet, the sea will be open to you—more open perhaps than you would wish—and England will at long last be rid of you!”
Milady clasped her hands and raising her beautiful eyes to heaven:
“O Lord, O Lord my God!” she said with an angelic meekness of gesture and tone. “Forgive this man as I myself forgive him.”
“Pray on, damned soul that you are!” Lord Winter sneered. “Your prayers are the more generous since you are in the power of a man who will never forgive you, I swear it!”
With which he left her. But as he went out, she sensed a piercing glance fixed upon her through the half-opened door, and as