The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [281]
All at once Felton stopped.
“What is it?” asked Milady.
“Silence,” said Felton, “I hear footsteps.”
“We’ve been found out!”
There were several moments of silence.
“No,” said Felton, “it’s nothing.”
“But what is that noise then?”
“The noise of the patrol just coming along the circuit path.”
“Where is the circuit path?”
“Just below us.”
“They’ll see us.”
“Not if there’s no lightning.”
“They’ll run into the foot of the ladder.”
“Luckily it’s six feet short.”
“There they are, my God!”
“Silence!”
They both remained suspended, motionless and breathless, eleven feet from the ground, while the soldiers passed under them laughing and talking.
It was a terrible moment for the fugitives.
The patrol passed on. They heard the sound of footsteps going away and the murmur of voices growing fainter.
“Now,” said Felton, “we’re safe.”
Milady heaved a sigh and fainted.
Felton continued to go down. Coming to the end of the ladder and feeling no support for his feet, he let himself down hand over hand; finally, reaching the last rung, he stretched out his legs and touched the ground. He bent down, picked up the pouch of gold, and took it in his teeth.
Then he picked Milady up in his arms and went off quickly in the opposite direction from that taken by the patrol. Soon he left the circuit path, went down over the rocks, and, coming to the shore of the sea, let out a whistle.
A similar signal answered him, and five minutes later a skiff appeared with four men aboard.
The boat came as close to land as it could, but there was not enough depth for it to touch the shore. Felton waded into the water up to his waist, not wishing to entrust his precious cargo to anyone.
Fortunately, the storm had begun to abate, though the sea was still rough. The little skiff bobbed up and down on the waves like a nutshell.
“To the sloop,” said Felton, “and row quickly.”
The four men bent their backs to the oars, but the sea was too heavy for the blades to get much of a grip on it.
Nevertheless, they moved away from the castle, which was the main thing. The night was pitch dark, and it was already almost impossible to make out the shore from the skiff; still less would anyone be able to make out the skiff from the shore.
A black speck was rocking on the waves.
It was the sloop.
While the skiff advanced with all the strength of its four rowers, Felton untied the rope and then the handkerchief that bound Milady’s hands.
Milady heaved a sigh and opened her eyes.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“Safe,” replied the young officer.
“Oh, safe, safe!” she cried. “Yes, here is the sky, here is the sea! This air I’m breathing is the air of freedom. Ah!…Thank you, Felton, thank you!”
The young man pressed her to his heart.
“But what’s wrong with my hands?” asked Milady. “It feels as though my wrists have been crushed in a vice.”
Milady raised her arms: her wrists were indeed bruised.
“Alas!” said Felton, looking at those beautiful hands and slowly shaking his head.
“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s nothing!” cried Milady. “Now I remember!”
Milady looked around for something.
“It’s here,” said Felton, nudging the pouch of gold with his foot.
They approached the sloop. The sailor on watch hailed the skiff, and the skiff answered.
“What is that vessel?” asked Milady.
“The one I’ve chartered for you.”
“Where will it take me?”
“Wherever you like, provided you put me ashore at Portsmouth.”
“What are you going to do in Portsmouth?” asked Milady.
“Carry out Lord de Winter’s orders,” said Felton with a gloomy smile.
“What orders?” asked Milady.
“So you don’t understand?” asked Felton.
“No, explain yourself, I beg you.”
“As he distrusted me, he wanted to guard you himself, and sent me in his place to have Buckingham sign the order for your deportation.”
“But if he distrusted you, how did he entrust you with this order?”
“Was I supposed to know what I was carrying?”
“That’s true. And you’re going to Portsmouth?”