The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [317]
As he bound her, Milady uttered piercing cries that echoed and were lost, dismally, in the depths of the wood.
“Suppose I am guilty,” Milady protested when she had come to her senses, “take me to court. Who appointed you judges of my so-called crimes?”
“I offered you Tyburn and you refused,” said Lord Winter.
“I do not want to die,” Milady answered, writhing in her bonds. “I am too young to die.”
“So too was the woman you poisoned at Béthune,” D’Artagnan put in. “She was younger than you, yet she is dead!”
“I swear to enter a convent . . . I will become a nun . . .”
“You were cloistered and you were a nun,” the executioner replied. “You left the convent to bring ruin upon my brother.”
Milady uttered a cry of horror and fell on her knees. The hangman, picking her up under the arms, sought to take her toward the boat moored near by.
“Ah, God, do you mean to drown me?” she whimpered.
There was something so pathetic and so appealing in her voice that even D’Artagnan, from the first her most dogged pursuer, slumped down on a tree trunk and, bowing his head, stopped up his ears with his fingers. Nevertheless he could not drown out her shrieks and threats. The youngest of them all, D’Artagnan felt his courage fail him.
“I cannot bear to see this sight!” he moaned. “I cannot stand by and let a woman die like this.”
Hearing him, Milady clutched at a shadow of hope.
“D’Artagnan,” she cried, “remember that I loved you!”
The Gascon rose dully and took a few steps toward her, but Athos, looming between them, his sword drawn, barred the way.
“One more step, D’Artagnan, and we fight, for all our friendship,” he threatened.
D’Artagnan sank to his knees and prayed.
“Come,” Athos commanded, “do your duty, executioner.”
“Willingly, Monsieur,” the man of Lille replied. “As a good Catholic, I swear I am but performing the duties of my office in destroying this woman.”
Athos took one step forward and facing Milady:
“I forgive you the evil you have done me,” he said. “I pardon you for my future blasted, my honor lost, my love defiled and salvation forever warped by the despair you visited upon me. God rest you, may you die in peace!”
Lord Winter advanced.
“I forgive you for poisoning my brother, for murdering His Grace the Duke of Buckingham, for causing the death of young Felton and for your attempts upon my own life. May you die in peace!”
“For my part,” said D’Artagnan, “I beg your forgiveness. By trickery unworthy of a gentleman, I provoked your anger and moved you to vengeance. In return for such forgiveness, I forgive you that cruel vengeance and the death of my poor mistress. God grant you die in peace!”
“I am lost!” Milady cried in English. “I must die,” and immediately after, in French: “Je suis perdue, je dois mourir!”
Then, unaided, she rose, stood erect and glanced about her, her eyes shining in the night like a flame. But she saw nothing; and, pausing to listen, she heard no sound.
“Where am I to die?” she asked.
“Across the river,” said the man of Lille, helping her into the boat. When both were settled, Athos handed the executioner a sum of money.
“Here is your fee for the execution,” he said. “It must be made quite plain that we are acting only as judges.”
“I thank you, Monsieur,” the man in the red cloak replied, tossing the money into the river. “This woman must know that I am not accomplishing my public duties as professional executioner but my private duties as a God-fearing man.”
The boat glided toward the left bank of the Lys as the company fell to their knees. Slowly the boat followed the ferry rope under the shadow of a pallid cloud that descended very gradually over the waters. Our friends, following the boat’s progress, watched it reach the bank opposite; the figures of executioner and condemned were clearly discernible, outlined in black against the faintly