The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [271]
“Having eyes, see ye not?” Milady repeated with an accent of indescribable grief. “Having ears, hear ye not?”
“Well then, speak, speak—”
“You wish me to confide my shame to you?” A blush of modesty suffused her cheeks. “Ay, it is my shame, for often the crime of one becomes the shame of another.”
“I do not understand—”
“I cannot confide my shame to you, a man!” Covering her lovely eyes virtuously with her hand: “Never, never! I could not do it!”
“But—am I not your brother?”
Milady looked at him for some time with an expression which the young officer mistook for doubt but which was partly scrutiny and chiefly the will to fascinate. Felton, supplicant in his turn, clasped his hands.
“Well, then,” Milady conceded, “I trust my brother and I will dare to—”
At this moment Lord Winter’s footsteps echoed down the corridor. This time Milady’s relentless brother-in-law was not content to stop before the door and move on as he had the days before. Instead he exchanged a few words with the sentinel, then the door swung open and he stood on the threshold. Felton, hearing his voice, had stepped back. When Lord Winter entered the young officer was several paces away from the prisoner. Lord Winter walked in slowly, his inquisitorial glance first leveled at Milady then turning on Felton.
“You’ve been here a long time, John,” he said. “Has this woman been telling you about her crimes? If so, I can understand your long stay.”
Felton winced. Milady realized that if she did not come to the help of her disconcerted Puritan all was lost.
“So you fear your prisoner may escape?” She turned scornfully toward her brother-in-law. “Well, just ask your worthy jailer what favor I was even now soliciting of him.”
“You were soliciting a favor?” Lord Winter inquired suspiciously.
“Ay, she was, my Lord,” Felton confessed with some embarrassment.
“Come, what favor?”
“She asked me for a knife which she promised to return to me through the grating a moment after she had received it.”
“There must be someone concealed here whose throat this amiable lady would wish delicately to slit!” Lord Winter observed in an ironical, contemptuous tone.
“There is myself,” Milady replied very evenly.
“I have given you your choice of America or Tyburn! Choose Tyburn, My Lady. Believe me, the cord is more certain than the knife.”
Felton turned pale and made a step forward, remembering that at the moment he entered Milady had a rope in her hand.
“Quite so, My Lord, I have often thought of it.” Then, lowering her voice: “And I will think of it again.”
Felton shuddered and Lord Winter advised:
“Be on your guard, John. I have placed my trust in you. Beware, friend; I have warned you.” He cleared his throat. “Cheer-up, lad, we shall be delivered of this creature within three days. And where I shall send her she can harm nobody.”
“Hear him, oh, hear him!” Milady cried with such vehemence that Lord Winter might believe she was addressing Heaven and Felton might understand that she was addressing him.
Felton bowed his head, apparently deep in thought. His master took the young officer by the arm and led him out, keeping his eye on his sister-in-law all the while.
“Alas!” mused Milady, “I fear I am not so far advanced as I expected. Lord Winter has exchanged his natural stupidity for a prudence hitherto quite alien to him. Truly the desire for vengeance is a wonderful thing and how it moulds a man’s character! As for Felton, he is hesitant. Ah, he is not a man like that accursed D’Artagnan. A Puritan adores only virgins and expresses his adoration by clasping his hands. A musketeer loves women and expresses his love by clasping his hands about them.”
Meanwhile Milady waited with much impatience, fearing the day might pass without her