The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [298]
The novice sat down and:
“Dear Heaven!” she said, “how unhappy I am! I have been here for six long months without the slightest amusement or distraction. Now you come, we meet, I am sure we will be friends—and I may have to leave here at any moment.”
“What? You are leaving?”
“I hope so, Madame,” said the novice beaming. “I do hope so!” she insisted, with no effort to conceal her joy.
“I hear you have suffered at the hands of the Cardinal, my dear. That strengthens the bonds of sympathy between us.”
“So what our good Mother told me is true, Madame. You too are the victim of that wicked priest?”
“Hush, my dear, we must not speak of him thus, even here. All my misfortunes come from my saying more or less what you just said. A woman I believed to be my friend overheard me. She betrayed me.” Milady sank back against the pillows. “I dare say you too are the victim of a friend’s betrayal.”
“No, Madame, I am the victim of my loyalty to a woman I loved, for whom I would have given my life and for whom I would give my life today.”
“And she has abandoned you, poor child?”
“I was unjust enough to believe so. But in the last few days I have obtained proof to the contrary, God be praised, for I would have been deeply hurt had she forgotten me.” The novice sighed. “But you, Madame,” she continued, “you seem to be free. If you wish to escape there is nothing to prevent you.”
“And where am I to go?” Milady asked ruefully. “I have no friends and no money, I know nothing of this part of the country, for I have never been here before—”
“Oh, you would find friends wherever you went. You are so kind and so beautiful!”
“That,” Milady replied, softening her smile and assuming an angelic expression, “does not save me from solitude and persecution.”
“Believe me, Madame, “the novice urged, “we must have faith in Heaven. There always comes a moment when the good you have done pleads your cause before God. Who knows, perhaps it is lucky for you to have met me, humble and powerless though I be. For if I leave here—well, I shall have a few powerful friends who after working on my behalf will work on yours.”
Milady was quick to judge that by talking of herself, she could probably get the novice to reply in kind.
“When I said I was alone,” she said, “I did not mean to say that I had not powerful friends in high places. But these friends themselves tremble before the Cardinal. Even the Queen does not dare to oppose the fearsome minister; I have proof that Her Majesty, generous though she be, has more than once been forced to abandon to the Cardinal’s anger people who had served her loyally and well.”
“Believe me, Madame, the Queen may seem to have abandoned these persons but you must not judge by appearances: the more direly her servants are persecuted, the more the Queen thinks of them. Very often, just when these unhappy victims least expect it, they are given proofs of Her Majesty’s charitable remembrance.”
“Alas, yes! I suppose this is true! The Queen is so good.”
“So you know her, Madame? You know our noble, beautiful and gracious Queen?”
“I have never had the honor of being presented to Her Majesty in person,” Milady explained, “but I know a great many of her most intimate friends: I know Monsieur de Putange . . . Monsieur Dujart in England . . . and Monsieur de Tréville. . . .”
“Monsieur de Tréville!” cried the novice, “you know Monsieur de Tréville?”
“Yes, indeed. As a matter of fact, I know him intimately.”
“The Captain of the Royal Musketeers?”
“The Captain of the Royal Musketeers.”
“See, Madame, how closely that brings us together. It makes us excellently acquainted, we are almost friends. If you know Monsieur de Tréville so well, you must have visited him.”
“Often, my child,” said Milady, congratulating herself on the successful falsehood.
“You must have met some of his musketeers, then?”
“I have met all those he usually