The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [279]
However, since the wound might, after all, be serious, despite his suspicions, he sent a man on horseback that same moment to fetch a doctor.
LVIII
ESCAPE
As Lord de Winter had thought, Milady’s wound was not dangerous. And so, once she found herself alone with the woman whom the baron had sent for and who was hurriedly undressing her, she reopened her eyes.
However, it was necessary to feign weakness and pain. This was not a difficult thing for an actress like Milady, and the poor woman was so completely fooled by her prisoner that, despite her entreaties, she insisted on watching over her all night.
But the presence of this woman did not keep Milady from reflecting.
There was no longer any doubt; Felton was convinced; Felton was hers. If an angel should appear to the young man and accuse Milady, he would certainly take it, in the state of mind in which he found himself, for an emissary of the devil.
Milady smiled at this thought, for Felton was henceforth her only hope, her only means of salvation.
But Lord de Winter might have suspected that, and Felton might now be under surveillance himself.
Towards four o’clock in the morning, the doctor arrived. But since the time when Milady had stabbed herself, the wound had already closed. The doctor was thus unable to measure either its direction or its depth; he could only tell from the patient’s pulse that the case was not serious.
In the morning, under the pretext that she had not slept at night and needed rest, Milady sent away the woman who was watching over her.
She had one hope, which was that Felton would come at breakfast time, but Felton did not come.
Had her fears been realized? Was Felton, suspected by the baron, going to fail her at the decisive moment? She had only one day left: Lord de Winter had announced that she would be embarking on the twenty-third, and they had just reached the morning of the twenty-second.
Nevertheless, she waited rather patiently until dinner time.
Though she had not eaten in the morning, dinner was brought at the usual hour. Milady noticed then with fright that the uniforms of the soldiers guarding her had changed.
Then she ventured to ask what had become of Felton. She was told that Felton had mounted a horse an hour ago and ridden off.
She inquired whether the baron was still in the castle. The soldier replied that he was, and that he had orders to inform him if the prisoner wished to speak with him.
Milady replied that she was too weak at the moment, and that her only wish was to be left alone.
The soldier went out, leaving dinner on the table.
Felton had been sent away, the marines had been changed, Felton was thus distrusted.
This was the last blow to the prisoner.
Left alone, she got up. This bed, which she kept to out of prudence and to make them believe she was seriously wounded, burned her like a bed of coals. She cast a glance at the door. The baron had had a board nailed over the peephole. He no doubt feared that through this opening she might still manage, by some diabolical means, to seduce the guards.
Milady smiled for joy. She could thus give way to her passions without being observed. She paced the room with the exaltation of a raving madwoman or a tigress locked in an iron cage. To be sure, if she still had the knife, she would have considered killing, not herself this time, but the baron.
At six o’clock, Lord de Winter came in. He was armed to the teeth. This man, in whom till then Milady had seen only a rather foolish gentleman, had become an admirable jailer. He seemed to foresee everything, guess everything, forestall everything.
One glance at Milady told him what was going on in her soul.
“Very well,” he said, “but today again you will not kill me; you have no weapons left, and besides I’m on my guard. You had begun to pervert my poor Felton; he was already falling under your infernal influence, but I intend to save him. He will not see you again. It’s all over. Gather up your rags, you’re