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These verses were not excellent, even far from it; but, as we know, the Protestants did not pride themselves on poetry.

While she sang, Milady listened. The soldier on guard at her door stopped as if turned to stone. Milady could thus judge the effect she made.

Then she continued her singing with an inexpressible fervor and feeling. It seemed to her that the sounds spread far away under the vaults and went like a magic charm to soften the hearts of her jailers. However, it seemed that the soldier on sentry duty, no doubt a zealous Catholic, shook off the charm, for he said through the door:

“Be quiet now, Madame, your song is as sad as a ‘De Profundis,’ and if, in addition to the delights of being garrisoned here, one must also listen to such things, it will be unbearable.”

“Silence!” said a grave voice, which Milady recognized as Felton’s. “What are you interfering for, you rascal? Were you ordered to stop this woman from singing? No. You were told to guard her, and to shoot her if she tries to escape. Guard her, then; and if she escapes, kill her; but do not change anything in the orders.”

An expression of unutterable joy lit up Milady’s face, but this expression was as fleeting as a flash of lightning, and without seeming to have heard the dialogue, of which she had not missed a single word, she went on, giving her voice all the charm, all the range, and all the seduction the devil had put into it:

For all my tears and misery,

For my harsh exile and my chains,

Youth and prayer are left to me,

And God, who will make up for all my pains.

This voice, of an unheard-of range and a sublime passion, gave to the crude and uncultivated poetry of these psalms a magic and an expression that the most exalted Puritans rarely found in the songs of their brethren, which they were forced to adorn with all the resources of their imagination. Felton thought he was listening to the singing of the angel who consoled the three Hebrew children in the fiery furnace.184

Milady went on:

But one day we shall be set free,

For God, our God, is strong and just;

And if that hope is not to be,

Death and the martyr’s crown still stay for us.

This verse, in which the terrible enchantress tried to put all her soul, ended by bringing disorder to the young officer’s heart. He abruptly opened the door, and Milady saw him appear, pale as ever, but with burning and almost wild eyes.

“Why do you sing like that,” he said, “and with such a voice?”

“Forgive me, Monsieur,” Milady said gently, “I forgot that my songs are not suited to this house. I have undoubtedly offended you in your beliefs, but it was without meaning to, I swear to you. Forgive me, then, for a fault which is great, perhaps, but was certainly unintentional.”

Milady was so beautiful at that moment, the religious ecstasy in which she seemed plunged gave such expression to her physiognomy, that Felton, dazzled, believed he was now beholding the angel whom he had only heard before.

“Yes, yes,” he replied, “yes, you are troubling, you are disturbing the people who live in this castle.”

And the poor madman did not himself perceive the incoherence of his speech, while Milady plunged her lynx eye into the depths of his heart.

“I shall stop singing,” said Milady, lowering her eyes, with all the sweetness she could give to her voice, with all the resignation she could impart to her bearing.

“No, no, Madame,” said Felton, “only do not sing so loudly, especially at night.”

And with these words, Felton, feeling that he could not long maintain his severity towards the prisoner, rushed out of her apartment.

“You did very well, lieutenant,” said the soldier. “Those songs upset the soul, yet you end by getting used to them: she has such a beautiful voice!”

LIV

THIRD DAY OF CAPTIVITY

Felton had come, but there was one more step to be taken: he had to be kept, or rather, he had to stay on his own. And Milady could as yet only dimly discern the means that would lead her to that result.

There had to be still more: he had to be made to speak, so that he could also