The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [298]
“Why all these precautions?”
“You’ll soon know.”
Milady got up and went to the door, opened it, looked into the corridor, and came back to sit down again beside Mme Bonacieux.
“So,” she said, “he played his role well.”
“Who did?”
“The man who introduced himself to the abbess as the cardinal’s envoy.”
“You mean he was playing a role?”
“Yes, my child.”
“Then that man is not…”
“That man,” said Milady, lowering her voice, “is my brother.”
“Your brother?” cried Mme Bonacieux.
“Well, you are the only one who knows that secret, my child. If you tell it to anyone in the world, I will be lost, and you will be, too, perhaps.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Listen, here’s what is happening: my brother, who was coming to my aid in order to take me away from here by force, if necessary, ran into the cardinal’s emissary, who was on his way to fetch me. He followed him. Coming to a solitary and secluded place on the road, he drew his sword and called on the messenger to hand over the papers he was carrying. The messenger tried to defend himself. My brother killed him.”
“Oh!” cried Mme Bonacieux, shuddering.
“It was the only way, you realize. Then my brother decided to use guile in place of force: he took the papers, introduced himself here as the cardinal’s emissary, and in an hour or two a carriage is to come to take me away on the part of His Eminence.”
“I understand: it’s your brother who will send the carriage.”
“Exactly. But that’s not all. This letter that you received, and that you think is from Mme de Chevreuse…”
“Well?”
“It’s a forgery.”
“What?”
“Yes, a forgery. It’s a trap to keep you from resisting when they come to fetch you.”
“But it’s d’Artagnan who will come.”
“Don’t believe it. D’Artagnan and his friends are detained at the siege of La Rochelle.”
“How do you know that?”
“My brother met emissaries from the cardinal dressed as musketeers. They would have called you to the door, you would have thought they were with your friends, they would have abducted you and taken you to Paris.”
“Oh, my God! I lose my head amidst all this chaos of iniquities. If this goes on,” Mme Bonacieux continued, burying her face in her hands, “I feel I shall go mad!”
“Wait…”
“What is it?”
“I hear the hoofbeats of a horse. It’s my brother setting out again. I want to say a last good-bye to him. Come.”
Milady opened the window and made a sign to Mme Bonacieux to join her. The young woman went over.
Rochefort galloped past.
“Good-bye, brother!” cried Milady.
The chevalier raised his head, saw the two young women, and, without slackening his pace, gave Milady a friendly wave of the hand.
“Good old Georges!” she said, closing the window with an expression on her face that was filled with affection and melancholy.
And she went to sit down in her place again, as if she had been plunged into the most personal reflections.
“Dear lady,” said Mme Bonacieux, “forgive me for interrupting you, but what do you advise me to do? My God! You have more experience than I. Speak, I’m listening.”
“First of all,” said Milady, “it may be that I’m mistaken and that d’Artagnan and his friends really are coming to your rescue.”
“Oh, that would be too wonderful!” cried Mme Bonacieux. “So much happiness is not meant for me!”
“So, you understand, it’s quite simply a question of time, a sort of race to see who comes first. If it’s your friends who win, you are saved; if it’s the cardinal’s henchmen, you are lost.”
“Oh, yes, yes, lost without mercy! What to do, then? What to do?”
“There would be one quite simple, quite natural way…”
“What is it, tell me?”
“It would be to wait, hidden in the neighborhood, and thus make sure which men come asking for you.”
“But wait where?”
“Oh, that’s hardly a problem. I myself am going to stop and hide a few leagues from here, waiting for my brother to come and join me. I’ll just take you with me, we’ll hide and wait together.”
“But they won’t let me leave. I’m almost a prisoner here.”
“As they think I’m leaving on an order from the cardinal, they will not think you are in much