The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [301]
Milady let out a muffled roar. She recognized the one in the lead as d’Artagnan.
“Oh, my God! my God!” cried Mme Bonacieux, “who is it?”
“It’s the uniform of the cardinal’s guards; there’s not an moment to lose!” cried Milady. “We must flee, we must flee!”
“Yes, yes, we must flee,” Mme Bonacieux repeated, but without being able to take a step: terror nailed her to the spot.
They heard the horsemen passing under the windows.
“Come on! Come on!” cried Milady, trying to drag the young woman by the arm. “Thanks to the garden, we can still get away. I have the key. But we must hurry, in five minutes it will be too late.”
Mme Bonacieux tried to walk, took two steps, and fell to her knees.
Milady tried to pick her up and carry her, but she could not manage it.
Just then they heard the rolling of the carriage, which at the sight of the musketeers set off at a gallop. Then three or four shots rang out.
“For the last time, will you come?” cried Milady.
“Oh, my God! my God! you can see I have no strength left; you can see I can’t walk: flee by yourself!”
“Flee by myself and leave you here? No, no, never!” cried Milady.
All at once, a livid light flashed from her eyes. With a bound, frantic, she rushed to the table, poured into Mme Bonacieux’s wine glass the contents of the gem of her ring, which she had opened with a singular promptness.
It was a reddish grain that dissolved at once.
Then, taking the glass in one hand, she said:
“Drink, drink—this wine will give you strength.”
And she brought the glass to the lips of the young woman, who drank mechanically.
“Ah, this is not how I wanted to be revenged!” said Milady, setting the glass on the table with an infernal smile, “but, by heaven, one does what one can!”
And she rushed from the apartment.
Mme Bonacieux watched her flee, without being able to follow her. She was like those people who dream they are being pursued and try in vain to move.
Some minutes passed. There was a terrible noise by the gate. Mme Bonacieux expected to see Milady reappear any moment, but she did not reappear.
Several times—from terror, no doubt—cold sweat broke out on her burning forehead.
Finally she heard the creak of the gates being opened. The sound of boots and spurs rang out on the stairs. There was a loud murmur of voices coming nearer, in the midst of which she seemed to hear her name spoken.
All at once she let out a great cry of joy and rushed for the door. She had recognized d’Artagnan’s voice.
“D’Artagnan! d’Artagnan!” she cried, “is it you? This way, this way!”
“Constance! Constance!” replied the young man. “My God, where are you?”
Just then the door to the cell did not open but yielded to impact. Several men burst into the room. Mme Bonacieux had fallen into an armchair without being able to move.
D’Artagnan cast aside the still-smoking pistol he was holding in his hand and fell on his knees before his mistress; Athos thrust his pistol back into his belt; Porthos and Aramis, who were holding bare swords, sheathed them again.
“Oh, d’Artagnan! my beloved d’Artagnan! so you’ve finally come, you didn’t deceive me, it’s really you!”
“Yes, yes, Constance, we’re together again!”
“Oh, she could talk all she liked about how you wouldn’t come, but I secretly hoped. I didn’t want to flee. Oh, how right I was, how happy I am!”
At the word she, Athos, who had calmly sat down, stood up all at once.
“She? She who?” asked d’Artagnan.
“Why, my companion; the one who, out of friendship for me, wanted to get me away from my persecutors; the one who just fled, taking you for the cardinal’s guards.”
“Your companion?” cried d’Artagnan, turning paler than his mistress’s white veil. “What companion do you mean?”
“The one whose carriage was at the gate, a woman who said she was your friend, d’Artagnan, a woman to whom you had told everything.”
“Her name, her name!” cried d’Artagnan. “My God, don’t you know her name?”
“Yes, I