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“No, Kitty, you’re mistaken, I no longer love her; but I want to avenge myself for her contempt.”

“Yes, I know your vengeance—you told it to me.”

“What is it to you, Kitty? You know very well that I love only you.”

“How can I know that?”

“By my contempt for her.”

Kitty sighed.

D’Artagnan took a pen and wrote:

Madame,

Up to now I have doubted that your first two notes were indeed addressed to me, so unworthy did I deem myself of such an honor. Moreover, I was so unwell that I would in any case have hesitated to reply to them.

But today I must indeed believe in the excess of your kindness, since not only your letter, but your maid as well, assure me that I have the happiness of being loved by you.

She has no need to tell me how a gallant man may obtain his pardon. I shall come to ask you for mine this evening at eleven o’clock. To tarry a day longer would now be, in my eyes, to offend you anew.

He whom you have made the happiest of men,

Comte de Wardes

This note was first of all a forgery; it was also an indelicacy; from the point of view of our present-day morals, it was even something of a disgrace; but people of that time were less dainty than they are now. Besides, d’Artagnan knew by her own admission that Milady was guilty of treachery in more important matters, and he had only the slenderest respect for her. And yet, despite such small respect, he felt a mad passion burning in him for this woman. A passion drunk with contempt, but a passion or thirst all the same.

D’Artagnan’s intention was quite simple: through Kitty’s bedroom he would reach her mistress’s; he would profit from the first moment of surprise, of shame, of terror, to conquer her; he might also fail, but something surely had to be left to chance. In eight days the campaign would begin, and he would have to leave. D’Artagnan had no time to spin out a perfect love.

“Here,” said the young man, handing the sealed note to Kitty, “give this letter to Milady. It’s the reply from M. de Wardes.”

Poor Kitty turned pale as death; she guessed what was in the letter.

“Listen, my dear girl,” d’Artagnan said to her, “you understand that all this has to end in one way or another. Milady may find out that you gave the first note to my valet instead of the count’s valet, that it was I who opened the others that should have been opened by M. de Wardes. Then Milady will throw you out, and you know her, she’s not a woman to limit her vengeance to that.”

“Alas!” said Kitty, “for whom have I exposed myself to all this?”

“For me, I know very well, my lovely,” said the young man, “and I’m very grateful to you for it, I swear to you.”

“But what on earth is in your note?”

“Milady will tell you.”

“Ah! you don’t love me!” cried Kitty. “And I am so unhappy!”

To this reproach there is a response by which women are always fooled. D’Artagnan responded in such a way that Kitty remained in the greatest delusion.

She wept a great deal, however, before deciding to give Milady the letter; but she finally did decide. That was all d’Artagnan wanted.

Besides, he promised her that he would leave her mistress early, and that on leaving her mistress, he would come up to her room.

This promise thoroughly consoled poor Kitty.

XXXIV

WHICH TREATS OF THE OUTFITTING OF ARAMIS AND PORTHOS

Since the four friends began the chase after their outfits, there had been no fixed meeting between them. They dined apart from one another, wherever they happened to be, or rather wherever they could. Duty, for its part, also took up a portion of this precious time, which was so quickly running out. They had agreed to meet just once a week, towards one o’clock, at Athos’s lodgings, seeing that the latter, according to the oath he had taken, no longer crossed his doorsill.

The day when Kitty came to d’Artagnan’s was the day of the meeting.

Kitty had barely left when d’Artagnan set out for the rue Férou.

He found Athos and Aramis philosophizing. Aramis had half a mind to return to the cassock. Athos, as was his habit, neither dissuaded