The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [255]
Then, as if to realize for herself the changes she could impose upon her expressive and mobile physiognomy, she made it take on all its various expressions, from anger, which distorted her features, to the sweetest, most affectionate, and most seductive smile. Then her hair, under her knowing hands, took on successively the waves she believed would contribute to the charms of her face. Finally, she murmured in self-satisfaction:
“Well, so nothing is lost. I’m still beautiful.”
It was about eight o’clock in the evening. Milady noticed a bed; she thought a few hours of rest would refresh not only her head and her ideas, but also her complexion. However, before she lay down, a better idea occurred to her. She had heard mention of supper. She had already been in that room for an hour; it could not be long before they brought her meal. The prisoner did not want to waste time, and she decided that, from that very evening, she would make some attempt to test the terrain, by studying the character of the people to whose keeping she had been entrusted.
Light appeared under the door. This light announced the return of her jailers. Milady, who was standing up, quickly flung herself down in her armchair, her head thrown back, her beautiful hair loose and disheveled, her breast half bared under its rumpled lace, one hand on her heart and the other hanging down.
The bolts were slid back, the door creaked on his hinges, there was a sound of approaching footsteps in the room.
“Put it on that table,” said a voice that the prisoner recognized as Felton’s.
The order was carried out.
“Bring torches and relieve the sentries,” Felton continued.
This double order that the young lieutenant gave to the same individuals proved to Milady that her servants were the same men as her guards, that is to say, soldiers.
Moreover, Felton’s orders were carried out with a promptness that gave a good idea of the flourishing state in which he maintained discipline.
Finally, Felton, who had not yet looked at Milady, turned towards her.
“Aha!” he said, “she’s asleep. That’s good. When she wakes up, she’ll have supper.”
And he started out of the room.
“But, lieutenant,” said a soldier who was less stoical than his leader, and who had gone up to Milady, “this woman is not asleep.”
“What do you mean, not asleep?” said Felton. “What is she doing, then?”
“She has fainted. Her face is very pale, and, hard as I listened, I couldn’t hear her breathing.”
“You’re right,” said Felton, after looking at Milady from where he was, without taking a step towards her. “Go and inform Lord de Winter that his prisoner has fainted, for I don’t know what to do, the case was not foreseen.”
The soldier went to obey his officer’s orders. Felton sat in an armchair that happened to be near the door and waited without saying a word, without making a move. Milady possessed that great art, so well studied by women, of seeing through her long eyelashes without appearing to open her eyes. She made out Felton, who had turned his back to her. She went on looking at him for about ten minutes, and during those ten minutes, the impassive guard never once turned around.
She then reflected that Lord de Winter was going to come and, by his presence, put new strength into her jailer. Her first experiment had failed; she took it as a woman who counts on her own resources. As a result, she raised her head, opened her eyes, and sighed weakly.
At this sigh, Felton finally turned around.
“Ah, so you’re awake, Madame!” he said. “Then I have nothing more to do here. If you need anything, you can call.”
“Oh, my God, my God, how I’ve suffered!” murmured Milady, with that harmonious