The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [314]
“I saw him die!” said Aramis, and Porthos: “Upon oath, I declare this to be the truth.”
“Before God and before man, I accuse this woman of having sought to make me kill the Comte de Vardes. Since no one else can certify to this fact, I beg that my solemn word of honor be accepted.” He paused a moment. “I have finished,” he concluded and crossed the room to join Porthos and Aramis.
“It is your turn now, Milord,” said Athos, and the Englishman stepped forward.
“Before God and before man,” said Lord Winter slowly, “I accuse this woman of having caused the murder of George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham.”
“Buckingham!” D’Artagnan gasped.
“Buckingham dead?” said Porthos and “What in the world—?” cried Aramis. Alone Athos and the masked man in the red cloak betrayed no change of expression and made no comment.
“His Grace the Duke of Buckingham has just been assassinated,” the Englishman went on evenly. “On the strength of the letter I received from you gentlemen, I had this woman arrested. I placed her in the hands of a true and loyal servant. She corrupted this man, set a dagger in his hand and sent him forth to kill the Duke. At this very moment, the assassin is probably paying with his life for the crime committed by this fury.”
Amazed at the import of the Englishman’s news and baffled by the extent of Milady’s powers of evil, they stood by, silent and lost in wonder.
“There is more,” Lord Winter pursued. “My brother bequeathed his all to this woman. Within three hours after he had signed his will, he died of a mysterious illness which left long livid streaks over his body. Tell me, my dear sister, how did your husband die?”
“Horrible!” said Porthos. Aramis stood motionless. D’Artagnan looked critically at Milady as he recalled his amorous passages with her.
“For the murder of Buckingham, for the murder of Felton and for the murder of my brother, I demand that justice be done. If this woman is not punished for her crimes, then I vow to punish her by my own hand.”
And Lord Winter joined the group across the room, leaving his corner free for other plaintiffs. Milady buried her face in her hands, striving desperately to collect her thoughts as her head whirled dizzily.
“It is now my turn,” Athos declared impassively, but he was shaking a little, and D’Artagnan, his eyes fastened on his friend, could think only of a lion, trembling ever so merely at the sight of a serpent. “It is now my turn,” Athos repeated with utmost calm. He walked over to the corner whence the preceding accusers had testified and said:
“I married this woman when she was a young girl, against the wishes of my whole family. I gave her my name and my wealth. One day I discovered that she was branded; there was a fleur-de-lis stamped upon her left shoulder.”
Milady rose indignantly to her feet:
“I defy you,” she said fiercely, “to find any tribunal which passed this infamous sentence upon me. I was innocent. No court in France could have branded me. Tell me then how it came about?”
“Silence, woman, it is my turn to speak.”
From the depths of the room, the man in red cloak rose to full height, dominating the others:
“My turn at last,” he added in ominous tones.
“Who are you?” cried Milady, choking.
Her spell of coughing done, her disheveled hair streaming above the hands that held her head, she ventured a glance at the speaker. She was aghast, thought Porthos, with something akin to pity in his heart. Aramis, watching her, thought that her hair had come alive and was writhing like that of the Medusae. All eyes were turned toward the stranger, for none save Athos had the faintest idea who he could be. Yet Athos appeared to lose his composure and to be gazing at the man in the red cloak with as vast an astonishment as his friends. The stranger did not make for the corner the previous plaintiffs had occupied but instead