The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [293]
“So what our good mother told me is true, that you were also a victim of this wicked cardinal?”
“Hush!” said Milady. “Even here we must not speak of him like that. All my misfortunes come of having said more or less what you have just said before a woman who I believed was my friend and who betrayed me. And are you also the victim of a betrayal?”
“No,” said the novice, “but of my devotion to a woman I loved, for whom I would have given my life, and for whom I would still give it.”
“And who abandoned you, is that it?”
“I was unjust enough to believe so, but two or three days ago I received proof to the contrary, and I thank God for that—it would have cost me dearly to think she had forgotten me. But you, Madame,” the novice went on, “it seems to me that you are free, and that if you wanted to run away, it would depend only on you.”
“Where do you want me to go, with no friends, no money, in a part of France I don’t know at all, where I have never been?…”
“Oh,” cried the novice, “as for friends, you will have them wherever you show yourself, you seem so good and are so beautiful!”
“That does not change the fact,” Milady picked up, sweetening her smile in a way that gave her an angelic expression, “that I am alone and persecuted.”
“Listen,” said the novice, “one must have firm hope in heaven, you see; a moment always comes when the good one has done pleads one’s case before God, and, you know, perhaps it’s fortunate for you that you should have met me, humble and powerless as I am, for if I leave here, well, then I will have some powerful friends who, after working on my behalf, may also work on yours.”
“Oh, when I said I was alone,” said Milady, hoping to make the novice speak by speaking of herself, “it did not mean that I don’t also have highly placed acquaintances; but these acquaintances themselves tremble before the cardinal. The queen herself dares not stand up to the terrible minister. I have proof that Her Majesty, in spite of her excellent heart, has been obliged more than once to abandon people who have served her to the wrath of His Eminence.”
“Believe me, Madame, the queen may seem to have abandoned those people, but one mustn’t believe appearances: the more persecuted they are, the more she thinks of them, and often, at the moment when they’re least expecting it, they have proof that they are well remembered.”
“Alas!” said Milady, “I believe it: the queen is so good.”
“Oh, you know her, then, this beautiful and noble queen, if you speak of her like that!” the novice cried with enthusiasm.
“That is to say,” Milady picked up, driven into a corner, “I do not have the honor of knowing her personally, but I know a good number of her most intimate friends: I know M. de Putange; I knew M. Dujart198 in England; I know M. de Tréville.”
“M. de Tréville!” cried the novice. “You know M. de Tréville?”
“Yes, indeed, even quite well.”
“The captain of the king’s musketeers?”
“The captain of the king’s musketeers.”
“Oh, but you shall see,” cried the novice, “that very soon we shall be perfect acquaintances, almost friends. If you know M. de Tréville, you must have been to his house?”
“Often!” said Milady, who, having started on this path, and perceiving that the lie was working, wanted to push it to the end.
“In his house you must have seen some of his musketeers?”
“All those that he is accustomed to receive!” replied Milady, for whom this conversation was beginning to take on a real interest.
“Name some of those you know for me, and you’ll see that they turn out to be my friends.”
“Why,” said Milady, embarrassed, “I know M. de Louvigny, M. de Courtivron, M. de Férussac…”
The novice let her speak; then, seeing that she had stopped, said: “You don’t know a gentleman by the name of Athos?”
Milady turned as white as the sheets she was lying on, and, for all her self-control, could not help letting out a cry, seizing the novice’s hand, and devouring her with her