The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [187]
Milady assumed the most affectionate air she could manage, and put all possible brilliance into her conversation. At the same time, that fever which had left her for an instant came back to restore the brightness to her eyes, the color to her cheeks, the crimson to her lips. D’Artagnan found again that Circe who had already wrapped him in her enchantments. His love, which he thought extinguished and which was only napping, awakened in his heart. Milady smiled, and d’Artagnan felt he would damn himself for that smile.
There was a moment when he felt something like remorse for what he had done to her.
Milady gradually became more communicative. She asked d’Artagnan if he had a mistress.
“Alas!” said d’Artagnan, with the most sentimental air he could assume, “could you be so cruel as to ask me such a question? I, who, ever since I first saw you, have breathed and sighed only through you and for you?”
Milady smiled a strange smile.
“So you love me?” she asked.
“Do I need to tell you so? Haven’t you noticed it?”
“Yes, I have. But you know, the prouder the heart, the harder it is to win.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of difficulties!” said d’Artagnan. “It is only impossibilities that frighten me.”
“Nothing is impossible,” said Milady, “for true love.”
“Nothing, Madame?”
“Nothing,” replied Milady.
“Devil take it,” d’Artagnan said to himself, “that’s a different tune! Is she falling in love with me, by chance, the capricious lady, and would she be disposed to give me some other sapphire for myself, like the one she gave me when she took me for de Wardes?”
D’Artagnan quickly brought his chair closer to Milady’s.
“Well, now,” she said, “what would you do to prove this love you speak of?”
“Anything that was asked of me. Give the order, and I’m ready.”
“For anything?”
“For anything!” cried d’Artagnan, who knew ahead of time that he was not risking much in committing himself like this.
“Well, then, let’s talk a little,” Milady said in her turn, bringing her chair closer to d’Artagnan’s.
“I’m listening, Madame,” the latter said.
Milady remained anxious and as if undecided for a moment; then she seemed to make a decision.
“I have an enemy,” she said.
“You, Madame?” cried d’Artagnan, acting surprised. “My God, is it possible, good and beautiful as you are?”
“A mortal enemy.”
“Really?”
“An enemy who has insulted me so cruelly that there is war to the death between him and me. Can I count on you as an ally?”
D’Artagnan understood then and there where the vindictive creature was heading.
“You can, Madame,” he said emphatically. “My arm and my life are yours, as is my love.”
“In that case,” said Milady, “since you are as generous as you are loving…”
She paused.
“Well?” asked d’Artagnan.
“Well,” picked up Milady, after a moment’s silence, “from now on stop speaking of impossibility.”
“Do not overwhelm me with happiness,” cried d’Artagnan, throwing himself on his knees and covering with kisses the hands that were surrendered to him.
“Avenge me on that infamous de Wardes,” Milady murmured between her teeth, “and I’ll know very well how to get rid of you afterwards, you double fool, you walking sword blade!”
“Fall willingly into my arms after having jeered at me so impudently, you dangerous and hypocritical woman,” d’Artagnan thought for his part, “and afterwards I and the man you want to kill by my hand will both laugh at you.”
D’Artagnan raised his head.
“I am ready,” he said.
“You’ve understood me, then, my dear M. d’Artagnan?” said Milady.
“I could guess from one look of yours.”
“And so you will put your arm to use for me, that arm which has already won so much renown?”
“This very instant.”
“But,” said Milady, “how shall I reward such service? I know what lovers are like; they are people who never do anything for nothing.”
“You know the only response I desire,” said d’Artagnan, “the only one worthy of you and of me!”
And he drew her gently towards him.
She hardly resisted.
“Calculator!” she said, smiling.
“Ah!” cried d’Artagnan, truly carried away