The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [297]
The nun smiled.
“In that case, Madame,” she said, “you may set your mind at ease. This house will not be a harsh prison; we will do all in our power to make you enjoy your captivity. And you will find pleasant companionship. The young woman I mentioned is, like yourself, a victim of Court intrigues. That is a bond in common; and she too is both attractive and mannerly.”
“Who is she, Reverend Mother?”
“She was sent to me by a person of the highest rank. I know her only under the name of Kitty. I have not attempted to discover her real name.”
“Kitty! Kitty! Are you sure, Madame?”
“That is the name she goes under,” the nun answered. “But why do you ask? Do you know her?”
Milady shrugged her shoulders and smiled. Could this attractive victim of the Cardinal’s persecution be her erstwhile soubrette? Recalling Kitty’s unexplainable disappearance, a surge of anger swept over her, hatred and lust for vengeance distorted her features. Then, mastering herself, she reassumed that placid, benevolent expression which was but one of her many disguises.
“When may I see this poor young woman?” she asked with errant innocence. “I feel sure I shall like her ever so much!”
“You may see her this evening. But you have been traveling these four days, as you yourself told me. You arose this morning at five o’clock, you must rest, my dear. Lie down and go to sleep; we will call you in time for dinner.”
Excited as Milady was by the prospect of a new panel in her gallery of intrigues she could have done without sleep, despite the ardors and endurances of her journey. Nevertheless she obeyed the Mother Superior. A fortnight of various and harrowing experiences could not exhaust her physically, but mentally she must have rest.
She therefore excused herself, curtsied to the Mother Superior and went to bed, lulled to a quiet sleep amid notions of vengeance suggested by the mere name of Kitty. She recalled the virtually complete authority the Cardinal had promised so but she succeed in her mission. She had succeeded; D’Artagnan was in her power.
There was, however, a considerable fly in her generous ointment. The thought of it prickled her. Uncomfortably she remembered a certain Comte de La Fère, whom she had once married and whom she had thought dead or at least expatriated. But he was neither dead nor expatriated; he was resurrected in the person of Athos, D’Artagnan’s bosom friend. As such he must certainly have aided D’Artagnan in all the manoeuvres whereby the Queen had foiled the Cardinal’s plans; as such he was undoubtedly the enemy of His Eminence; as such she could probably include him in the plans of vengeance she had elaborated against the young Gascon. Lulled by such pleasant thoughts, Milady enjoyed golden slumbers.
Milady was awakened by a gentle voice. Starting up, she saw the Mother Superior and a young woman at the foot of her bed. The young woman was blonde, demure and of delicate complexion; she was eying Milady with a kindly curiosity.
Milady had never seen the novice before. The two looked at each other with scrupulous attention as they exchanged the usual courtesies, both beautiful but how different in their beauty! Milady smiled triumphantly as she realized her own advantage as to grand manners and aristocratic bearing; her rival did not indicate that the robe of a novice was not calculated to favor her in a duel of this kind. The Mother Superior presented the two young women to each other; this formality accomplished, she explained that her duties called her to chapel, and left them alone.
The novice, seeing that Milady remained in bed, made to follow the Mother Superior, but Milady checked her.
“Come, Madame, we have barely met and you seek to deprive me of your company. I must confess I had looked forward to chatting with you and making friends—”
“I beg your pardon, Madame. I thought I had come at the wrong time. You were sleeping; you must be very tired.”
“What pleasanter, my dear, than to be roused from sleep to find you at my bedside?” Milady