The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [277]
“Half an hour later the same symptoms reappeared. Luckily I had only taken half a glass this time. I resisted longer. Instead of falling sound asleep, I relapsed into a state of somnolence which felt me aware of what was happening around me, though I was too weak either to defend myself or to seek flight. I dragged myself toward the bed to seize the only defense left to me—the knife which was to save me. But I could not reach the pillow. I swayed, slipped to the ground and clasped my arms about one of the bedposts. Then I knew I was indeed lost!”
Felton, hearing, gave a shudder. His hands twitched convulsively. Milady continued in tones as dramatic as though she were even now a victim of that anguish she had experienced in the moment she was describing so vividly.
“Worst of all,” she whimpered, “this time I was conscious of the danger that threatened me.” She regained control of herself. “My body, drugged, was half-asleep but my mind registered everything I saw and heard. True, all this passed through veils of dreams but it was none the less ghastly.
“I saw the lamp ascend, leaving me in the darkness. I heard the awful creaking of the door, distinguished but twice before, yet how familiar! I felt intuitively that someone was approaching. Felton, they say that natives, lost in the jungles of America, can sense the approach of a cobra; that is exactly what I sensed that night.
“Desperately I made an effort, I strained every nerve in order to cry out; at incredible pains, I even managed to rise to my feet. But I sank down immediately and fell into the arms of my persecutor.”
“When will you tell me who this man was?” the young man pleaded.
One glance satisfied Milady of the pain and revulsion she had inspired in Felton by dwelling upon every detail of her story. But she wished to spare him no pang. The more deeply she could harrow his heart, the more certainly he would avenge her. The name of her seducer she reserved for the climax of her recital. Until then, she nursed every possible effect. On this latest visit, she told Felton, the villain was not contending with an inert acquiescent body, bereft of all feeling. Though Milady was unable to regain the complete exercise of her faculties, nevertheless she was possessed of a sense of immediate danger. Accordingly she struggled with all her might and, weak though she was, she must have put up a determined resistance, for presently she heard him damn “these wretched Puritan swine,” and amid much profanity declare that he knew they tired out their executioners but thought them to be less recalcitrant toward their lovers.
“Alas, my fiercest exertions could not last forever. I felt my strength waning and this time the coward took advantage not of my sleep but of my swooning!”
Felton made almost no sound, save for his harsh, throaty breathing. But sweat streamed over his marble brow and his hand, under his coat, tore nervously at his breast.
“On coming to,” Milady resumed, “my first impulse was to feel under my pillow for the knife I had been unable to reach. It had not availed to defend me, it might still serve in expiation. But as I picked up this knife, Felton, a terrible idea occurred to me. I have sworn to tell you everything and I shall tell you everything; I have promised you the truth and you shall hear it, were it to mean my ruin!”
“I can guess,” said Felton. “You wanted to avenge yourself on this man, did you not?”
“Ay, and how passionately! Here was no Christian feeling, I know. Doubtless that eternal enemy of our souls, that lion that rages ever about us, inspired me with his fury.” Meek,