The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [306]
Milady’s fears as to any suspicion on her victim’s part were groundless. Poor Constance Bonacieux was too innocent to imagine such treachery on the part of any woman. Besides the name of the Comtesse de Clark, which she had heard from the Mother Superior, was quite unknown to her. How could she be expected to see in this beautiful, brilliant and resourceful fellow-sufferer, the creature who was responsible for so many fatal misfortunes that had befallen her.
The lackey gone, Milady turned to Madame Bonacieux and with a sigh of satisfaction: “You see, dear, everything is ready . . . the Mother Superior thinks I am being taken away on orders from the Cardinal . . . this man is off to give his last orders . . . and in a quarter of an hour. . . .”
Madame Bonacieux swayed.
“Here, drink a finger of wine, it will comfort you. Then let us be off!”
“Ay, let us be off!” Madame Bonacieux echoed mechanically.
Milady motioned her to sit down opposite her, poured out a small glass of Spanish wine and served her a breast of chicken.
“Really, everything favors us!” she said gaily. “The night is almost fallen and by daybreak we shall be in our retreat. Who on earth can guess where it is? Courage, child, eat a few morsels and drink a drop or two.”
Still dazed, Madame Bonacieux automatically swallowed four or five mouthfuls and barely touched the glass with her lips.
“Come, child, do as I,” Milady urged, raising her glass with a gesture that suggested she was about to drain it. But it remained suspended in mid-air for she had just heard a rumble from the road which sounded like the echo of horses’ hoofs galloping up from afar. Then, as the sounds grew clearer, she fancied she could distinguish the neighing of horses. This rumor scattered her joy much as a clap of thunder dispels the most golden of dreams. She grew very pale and ran to the window; Madame Bonacieux, rising all atremble, leaned on her chair for support. It was impossible to see anything yet; but the approaching noise was undoubtedly that of horses at a gallop.
“Ah God! what can that be?” Madame Bonacieux whimpered.
“Our friends or our enemies,” Milady declared with frightening calm. “Stay where you are, I shall let you know in a moment.”
Madame Bonacieux stood speechless, rigid and pale as a statue.
The noise grew louder, the horses could not be more than a hundred and fifty paces distant; only a crook in the road made them invisible. A second later the echo was distinct enough for Milady to count them by the syncopated rattle of their hoofs. Straining her eyes, she stared across the dusk; there was just light enough for her to recognize the approaching horsemen.
Suddenly at the bend in the road she saw the glitter of gold-laced hats and flowing plumes . . . she counted first two, then five, then eight horsemen . . . and she noticed that one was several lengths ahead of his comrades. . . . Milady uttered a stifled moan: in the horseman in the lead she had recognized D’Artagnan.
“Ah God, Madame, what is it?” Madame Bonacieux whimpered.
“It is the Cardinal’s Guards, I can tell by their uniforms. We have not a moment to lose. Let us fly.”
“Yes, Madame, let us fly—” the novice repeated. But she stood there, rooted in terror to the spot, unable to move an inch. Meanwhile the horsemen could be heard clattering by under the window.
“Come along, for God’s sake, come along.” Milady attempted to drag the young woman by the arm. “We can still escape through the garden, I have the key. But do hurry! In five minutes it will be too late.”
Madame Bonacieux tried to walk, took two paces and fell to her knees. Milady tried to lift her and carry her on but could not manage it. At that moment she heard the rumbling of a carriage setting out at a gallop. Then came an exchange of shots.
“For the last time, will you come?” Milady insisted.
“I can’t. Oh, my God, don’t you see my strength fails me. I cannot walk. You must flee alone!”
“And leave you here, child. Never!