The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [244]
“So, all the same,” said Milady, looking around her and bringing her eyes back to the young officer with a most gracious smile, “I am a prisoner. But it won’t be for long, I’m sure,” she added. “My conscience and your politeness, Monsieur, are my guarantees of that.”
Flattering as the compliment was, the officer made no reply, but, drawing from his belt a small silver whistle similar to those used by bosun’s mates on ships of war, he blew three times, with three different modulations. Several men appeared, unharnessed the steaming horses, and took the carriage to the coach house.
Then, still with the same calm politeness, the officer invited his prisoner to go into the house. The latter, still with her same smiling face, took his arm and went in with him under a low and arched doorway which, through a vault lit only at the back, led to a stone stairway winding around a stone arris. They stopped before a massive door which, after the insertion into the lock of a key that the young man carried with him, swung back heavily on its hinges and opened onto the room destined for Milady.
At a single glance, the prisoner took in the apartment in its minutest details.
It was a room whose furnishings were at the same time rather decent for a prison and rather severe for a free man’s habitation. However, the bars on the windows and the bolts on the outside of the door decided the case in favor of a prison.
For an instant, all of this creature’s strength of soul, though tempered in the most vigorous springs, abandoned her. She fell into an armchair, crossing her arms, lowering her head, and expecting every moment to see a judge come in to interrogate her.
But no one came in except two or three marines, who brought the bags and boxes, set them down in a corner, and withdrew without saying anything.
The officer presided over all these details with the same calm that Milady had constantly seen in him, not uttering a word himself, and making himself obeyed by a gesture of the hand or a note of his whistle.
One would have said that between this man and his inferiors, spoken language did not exist or had become useless.
Finally, Milady could hold out no longer. She broke the silence.
“In heaven’s name, Monsieur,” she cried, “what does all this mean? Settle my doubts. I have courage enough for any danger I can foresee, for every misfortune I can understand. Where am I, and what am I here? If I am free, why these bars and these doors? If I am a prisoner, what crime have I committed?”
“You are here in the apartment that was intended for you, Madame. I was ordered to go and take you at sea, and to bring you to this castle. I have carried out that order, I believe, with all the strictness of a soldier, but also with all the courtesy of a gentleman. There ends, at least for the present, the charge I had to fulfill regarding you; the rest is another person’s concern.”
“And who is this other person?” asked Milady. “Can’t you tell me his name?…”
At that moment, a great noise of spurs was heard on the stairs. Several voices passed and died away, and the sound of solitary footsteps approached the door.
“Here is that person, Madame,” said the officer, moving out of the way, and standing in an attitude of respect and submission.
At the same time, the door opened; a man appeared on the threshold.
He was without hat, wore a sword at his side, and was twisting a handkerchief in his fingers.
Milady thought she recognized this shadow in the shadows. She leaned on the arm of the chair with one hand and thrust her head forward, as if to go to meet a certainty.
Then the stranger slowly advanced. And as he advanced, entering into the circle of light thrown by the lamp, Milady involuntarily backed away.
At last, when there was no more doubt, she cried in utter amazement:
“What? My brother? Is it you?”
“Yes, lovely