The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [307]
D’Artagnan had taken off his hat and had not put on his cloak; he found pleasure in letting the water stream down his burning brow and over his body, shaken with a feverish trembling.
Just as the little troop passed Goskal and was coming to the posting station, a man, sheltered under a tree, detached himself from the trunk with which he had blended in the darkness, and stepped into the middle of the road, putting his finger to his lips.
Athos recognized Grimaud.
“What is it?” cried d’Artagnan. “Has she left Armentières?”
Grimaud nodded his head affirmatively. D’Artagnan ground his teeth.
“Silence, d’Artagnan!” said Athos. “It is I who have taken charge of everything, so it is for me to question Grimaud.
“Where is she?” asked Athos.
Grimaud stretched out his hand in the direction of the Lys.
“Far from here?” asked Athos.
Grimaud held up a bent index finger.
“Alone?” asked Athos.
Grimaud nodded yes.
“Gentlemen,” said Athos, “she is alone, a half league from here, in the direction of the river.”
“Very good,” said d’Artagnan. “Lead us, Grimaud.”
Grimaud set off across country and served as the cavalcade’s guide.
After some five hundred paces, they came to a stream, which they forded.
In a flash of lightning, they made out the village of Erquinghem.
“Is it here?” asked d’Artagnan.
Grimaud shook his head negatively.
“Silence!” said Athos.
And the troop continued on its way.
There was another flash of lightning. Grimaud stretched out his arm, and in the bluish light of the fiery serpent they made out an isolated little house on the bank of the river, a hundred paces from a ferry. There was light in one window.
“Here we are,” said Athos.
At that moment, a man lying in a ditch stood up. It was Mousqueton. He pointed to the lighted window.
“She’s there,” he said.
“And Bazin?” asked Athos.
“While I was watching the window, he’s been watching the door.”
“Good,” said Athos, “you are all faithful servants.”
Athos jumped down from his horse, gave the bridle to Grimaud, and went towards the window, after making a sign for the rest of the troop to circle around to the side where the door was.
The little house was surrounded by a quickset hedge two or three feet high. Athos went through the hedge and came to the window, which was shutterless but had its half curtains carefully drawn.
He climbed on the stone windowsill, so that he could look over the curtains.
By the light of a lamp, he saw a woman wrapped in a dark-colored mantle sitting on a stool near a dying fire. Her elbows were resting on a shabby table, and her head was propped in her ivory white hands.
Her face could not be seen, but a sinister smile passed over Athos’s lips: there was no mistake, she was indeed the woman he was looking for.
Just then a horse whinnied. Milady raised her head, saw the pale face of Athos pressed to the window, and uttered a cry.
Athos realized that he had been recognized, shoved against the window with his knee and hand, the window yielded, the glass broke.
And Athos, like the spectre of vengeance, leaped into the room.
Milady ran to the door and opened it: paler and still more threatening than Athos, d’Artagnan stood on the threshold.
Milady backed away with a cry. D’Artagnan, believing she had some means of escape and fearing she would elude them, drew a pistol from his belt, but Athos raised his hand.
“Put up your weapon, d’Artagnan,” he said. “It is important that this woman be judged and not simply killed. Wait a moment longer, d’Artagnan, and you will be satisfied. Come in, gentlemen.”
D’Artagnan obeyed, for Athos had the solemn voice and the powerful gesture of a judge sent by the Lord himself. And so, after d’Artagnan, Porthos came in, followed by Aramis, Lord de Winter, and the man in the red cloak.
The four valets guarded the door and the window.
Milady had fallen into her chair with her arms stretched out, as if to ward off this terrible apparition. On glimpsing her brother-in-law, she uttered a terrible cry.
“What do you want?” exclaimed Milady.
“We