The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [190]
However, the transports of the two lovers subsided. Milady, who did not have the same motives for forgetting as d’Artagnan, came back to reality first and asked the young man if the measures that were to lead to a meeting between him and de Wardes the next day had been well fixed in his mind beforehand.
But d’Artagnan, whose ideas had taken quite a different course, forgot himself like a fool and answered gallantly that it was rather late to be concerned with duels at sword point.
This coolness towards the only interests that concerned her frightened Milady, whose questions became more insistent.
Then d’Artagnan, who had never seriously thought about this impossible duel, tried to change the subject, but he was no longer up to it.
Milady confined him to the limits she had traced out beforehand with her irresistible mind and her iron will.
D’Artagnan thought himself witty in advising Milady to pardon de Wardes and give up the furious plans she had made.
But at his first words, the young woman shuddered and moved away.
“Might you be afraid, dear d’Artagnan?” she said in a shrill and jeering voice that rang out strangely in the darkness.
“Don’t think of it, dear soul!” replied d’Artagnan. “But, finally, what if this poor comte de Wardes was less guilty than you think?”
“In any case,” Milady said gravely, “he deceived me, and from the moment he deceived me, he deserved to die.”
“He will die, then, since you condemn him!” said d’Artagnan, in so firm a tone that it seemed to Milady the expression of an unflagging devotion.
She drew close to him at once.
We cannot say how long the night lasted for Milady; but d’Artagnan thought he had been with her for barely two hours when daylight appeared through the slats of the blinds and soon invaded the room with its pallid gleam.
Then Milady, seeing that d’Artagnan was going to leave her, reminded him of the promise he had made to avenge her on de Wardes.
“I am quite ready to,” said d’Artagnan, “but first I would like to be sure of one thing.”
“What is it?” asked Milady.
“That you love me.”
“I’ve given you proof of that, it seems to me.”
“Yes, and so I am yours body and soul.”
“Thank you, my brave lover! But just as I have proved my love for you, you will prove yours in turn, will you not?”
“Certainly. But if you love me as you say,” d’Artagnan picked up, “aren’t you a little afraid for me?”
“What have I to fear?”
“Why, that I might be seriously wounded, even killed.”
“Impossible,” said Milady, “you’re so valiant a man and so keen a sword.”
“So you wouldn’t prefer,” d’Artagnan continued, “a means that would avenge you just as well, while making combat unnecessary?”
Milady gazed silently at her lover: the pale gleam of the first rays of light gave her bright eyes a strangely baleful expression.
“Really,” she said, “I believe you’re actually hesitating now.”
“No, I’m not hesitating. But I really feel sorry for this poor comte de Wardes, since you no longer love him, and it seems to me that a man must be so cruelly punished by the loss of your love alone that he needs no further punishment.”
“Who told you I loved him?” asked Milady.
“At least I can now believe without too much self-conceit that you love another,” the young man said in a caressing tone, “and, I repeat to you, I’m concerned for the count.”
“You?” asked Milady.
“Yes, I.”
“And why you?”
“Because I alone know…”
“What?”
“That he is far from being, or rather from having been, as guilty towards you as he seems.”
“Indeed!” said Milady in an uneasy tone. “Explain yourself, for I really don’t know what you mean to say.”
And she looked at d’Artagnan, who held her in his embrace, with eyes that seemed gradually to take fire.
“Yes, I am a gallant man!” said d’Artagnan, resolved to have done. “And since your love is mine, since I am sure of possessing it, for I do possess it, do I not?…”
“Entirely. Go on.”
“Well, I feel quite transported, but a confession weighs me down.”
“A confession?”
“If I doubted your