The Modern Library Children's Classics

by Kenneth Grahame

  “Her case is different, my child. I suspect she is staying in France because of some love affair.”

  “Ah, if she is in love, then, she cannot be so utterly miserable!”

  And as Milady sighed the nun looked at her with new interest.

  “So you too are a hapless victim of persecution?” she asked.

  “Alas, yes!”

  The Mother Superior scrutinized Milady as though to solve a fresh problem:

  “You are n-n-n-ot an en-n-nemy of our H-h-h-oly F-f-f-faith?”

  “I, a Protestant!” Milady cried. “Reverend Mother, I call upon God Who hears us to witness that I am a devout, fervent and practicing Catholic.”

  The nun smiled.

  “In that case, Madame,” she said, “you may set your mind at ease. This house will not be a harsh prison; we will do all in our power to make you enjoy your captivity. And you will find pleasant companionship. The young woman I mentioned is, like yourself, a victim of Court intrigues. That is a bond in common; and she too is both attractive and mannerly.”

  “Who is she, Reverend Mother?”

  “She was sent to me by a person of the highest rank. I know her only under the name of Kitty. I have not attempted to discover her real name.”

  “Kitty! Kitty! Are you sure, Madame?”

  “That is the name she goes under,” the nun answered. “But why do you ask? Do you know her?”

  Milady shrugged her shoulders and smiled. Could this attractive victim of the Cardinal’s persecution be her erstwhile soubrette? Recalling Kitty’s unexplainable disappearance, a surge of anger swept over her, hatred and lust for vengeance distorted her features. Then, mastering herself, she reassumed that placid, benevolent expression which was but one of her many disguises.

  “When may I see this poor young woman?” she asked with errant innocence. “I feel sure I shall like her ever so much!”

  “You may see her this evening. But you have been traveling these four days, as you yourself told me. You arose this morning at five o’clock, you must rest, my dear. Lie down and go to sleep; we will call you in time for dinner.”

  Excited as Milady was by the prospect of a new panel in her gallery of intrigues she could have done without sleep, despite the ardors and endurances of her journey. Nevertheless she obeyed the Mother Superior. A fortnight of various and harrowing experiences could not exhaust her physically, but mentally she must have rest.

  She therefore excused herself, curtsied to the Mother Superior and went to bed, lulled to a quiet sleep amid notions of vengeance suggested by the mere name of Kitty. She recalled the virtually complete authority the Cardinal had promised so but she succeed in her mission. She had succeeded; D’Artagnan was in her power.

  There was, however, a considerable fly in her generous ointment. The thought of it prickled her. Uncomfortably she remembered a certain Comte de La Fère, whom she had once married and whom she had thought dead or at least expatriated. But he was neither dead nor expatriated; he was resurrected in the person of Athos, D’Artagnan’s bosom friend. As such he must certainly have aided D’Artagnan in all the manoeuvres whereby the Queen had foiled the Cardinal’s plans; as such he was undoubtedly the enemy of His Eminence; as such she could probably include him in the plans of vengeance she had elaborated against the young Gascon. Lulled by such pleasant thoughts, Milady enjoyed golden slumbers.

  Milady was awakened by a gentle voice. Starting up, she saw the Mother Superior and a young woman at the foot of her bed. The young woman was blonde, demure and of delicate complexion; she was eying Milady with a kindly curiosity.

  Milady had never seen the novice before. The two looked at each other with scrupulous attention as they exchanged the usual courtesies, both beautiful but how different in their beauty! Milady smiled triumphantly as she realized her own advantage as to grand manners and aristocratic bearing; her rival did not indicate that the robe of a novice was not calculated to favor her in a duel of this kind. The Mother Superior presented the two young women to each other; this formality accomplished, she explained that her duties called her to chapel, and left them alone.

  The novice, seeing that Milady remained in bed, made to follow the Mother Superior, but Milady checked her.

  “Come, Madame, we have barely met and you seek to deprive me of your company. I must confess I had looked forward to chatting with you and making friends—”

  “I beg your pardon, Madame. I thought I had come at the wrong time. You were sleeping; you must be very tired.”

  “What pleasanter, my dear, than to be roused from sleep to find you at my bedside?” Milady said affably. “My awakening was a happy one; do let me enjoy it at leisure.” Rising in bed, she grasped the novice’s hand and drew her to a chair close to her bed. “Tell me about yourself,” she urged.

  The novice sat down and:

  “Dear Heaven!” she said, “how unhappy I am! I have been here for six long months without the slightest amusement or distraction. Now you come, we meet, I am sure we will be friends—and I may have to leave here at any moment.”

  “What? You are leaving?”

  “I hope so, Madame,” said the novice beaming. “I do hope so!” she insisted, with no effort to conceal her joy.

  “I hear you have suffered at the hands of the Cardinal, my dear. That strengthens the bonds of sympathy between us.”

  “So what our good Mother told me is true, Madame. You too are the victim of that wicked priest?”

  “Hush, my dear, we must not speak of him thus, even here. All my misfortunes come from my saying more or less what you just said. A woman I believed to be my friend overheard me. She betrayed me.” Milady sank back against the pillows. “I dare say you too are the victim of a friend’s betrayal.”

  “No, Madame, I am the victim of my loyalty to a woman I loved, for whom I would have given my life and for whom I would give my life today.”

  “And she has abandoned you, poor child?”

  “I was unjust enough to believe so. But in the last few days I have obtained proof to the contrary, God be praised, for I would have been deeply hurt had she forgotten me.” The novice sighed. “But you, Madame,” she continued, “you seem to be free. If you wish to escape there is nothing to prevent you.”

  “And where am I to go?” Milady asked ruefully. “I have no friends and no money, I know nothing of this part of the country, for I have never been here before—”

  “Oh, you would find friends wherever you went. You are so kind and so beautiful!”

  “That,” Milady replied, softening her smile and assuming an angelic expression, “does not save me from solitude and persecution.”

  “Believe me, Madame, “the novice urged, “we must have faith in Heaven. There always comes a moment when the good you have done pleads your cause before God. Who knows, perhaps it is lucky for you to have met me, humble and powerless though I be. For if I leave here—well, I shall have a few powerful friends who after working on my behalf will work on yours.”

  Milady was quick to judge that by talking of herself, she could probably get the novice to reply in kind.

  “When I said I was alone,” she said, “I did not mean to say that I had not powerful friends in high places. But these friends themselves tremble before the Cardinal. Even the Queen does not dare to oppose the fearsome minister; I have proof that Her Majesty, generous though she be, has more than once been forced to abandon to the Cardinal’s anger people who had served her loyally and well.”

  “Believe me, Madame, the Queen may seem to have abandoned these persons but you must not judge by appearances: the more direly her servants are persecuted, the more the Queen thinks of them. Very often, just when these unhappy victims least expect it, they are given proofs of Her Majesty’s charitable remembrance.”

  “Alas, yes! I suppose this is true! The Queen is so good.”

  “So you know her, Madame? You know our noble, beautiful and gracious Queen?”

  “I have never had the honor of b
eing presented to Her Majesty in person,” Milady explained, “but I know a great many of her most intimate friends: I know Monsieur de Putange … Monsieur Dujart in England … and Monsieur de Tréville.…”

  “Monsieur de Tréville!” cried the novice, “you know Monsieur de Tréville?”

  “Yes, indeed. As a matter of fact, I know him intimately.”

  “The Captain of the Royal Musketeers?”

  “The Captain of the Royal Musketeers.”

  “See, Madame, how closely that brings us together. It makes us excellently acquainted, we are almost friends. If you know Monsieur de Tréville so well, you must have visited him.”

  “Often, my child,” said Milady, congratulating herself on the successful falsehood.

  “You must have met some of his musketeers, then?”

  “I have met all those he usually receives,” Milady replied, glowing with pleasure at the turn the conversation was taking.

  “Will you name some of them, Madame? I wonder if any of them are also friends of mine.”

  “Well,” Milady said slowly, concealing her embarrassment, “I know Monsieur de Souvigny … Monsieur de Courtivron … Monsieur de Férussac …”

  The novice watched her expectantly, then, seeing her stop, she asked:

  “Do you happen to know a gentleman named Athos?” she inquired.

  Milady turned white as the sheets in which she was lying. Mistress of her movements though she was, she could not help uttering a cry, seizing the young woman’s hand and staring deep into her eyes.

  “What is the matter, Madame?” The novice was aghast. “Have I said anything to offend you?”

  “No, child, but that name struck me! I know that gentleman and it seemed so strange to find someone else who knows him well.”

  “Ay, Madame, I know him very well and I know his friends too: Monsieur Porthos and Monsieur Aramis.”

  “I also know them,” Milady blurted, chilled to the marrow of her bones.

  “Well, then, you must be aware what true and loyal men they are. Why not appeal to them if you need help?”

  “To be quite accurate,” Milady stammered, “they are not really close friends. I know them chiefly through stories I have heard from one of their comrades, Monsieur d’Artagnan.”

  “So you know Monsieur d’Artagnan!” the novice gasped as she, in turn, seized Milady’s hand and stared deep into her eyes. Then observing the extraordinary expression on Milady’s face:

  “Forgive me for asking you, dear Madame, but what is D’Artagnan to you?”

  “A friend … just a casual friend … yes, a friend.…”

  “You are deceiving me, Madame, you have been his mistress.”

  “It is you who have been his mistress,” Milady retorted.

  “I, Madame—” the novice faltered.

  “Yes, you. I know who you are now. You are Madame Bonacieux.” The young woman started back in surprise and terror. “Yes, you are Constance Bonacieux! Do you deny it?”

  “No, Madame; I see you know who I am. But are we rivals?”

  So savage and malign a joy blazed over Milady’s features that in any other circumstances, Madame Bonacieux would have fled in terror. But in this moment the poor young woman was consumed with jealousy. Summoning a vehemence of which she would have seemed incapable, she pleaded: “Tell me the truth, Madame, I can face it. Were you ever his mistress? Are you his mistress now?”

  “Of course not!” Milady’s accents admitted of no doubt. “Of course not!”

  “I believe you, Madame, but pray tell me why you were so upset when I—?”

  Already Milady had overcome her agitation and with complete calm:

  “Don’t you understand?” she demanded.

  “Understand what, Madame? Pray tell me what you mean?”

  “Don’t you understand that Monsieur d’Artagnan is my friend and that he has told me everything—”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes, child, I know all about how you were carried off from the cottage at Saint Cloud … how D’Artagnan was plunged in despair … how he marshaled his friends and how they searched for you in vain … how at this very moment they are worrying about you.… Monsieur d’Artagnan and I have spoken so often of you, he told me all the adoration he had for you and he made me love you long before I ever laid eyes on you. And so, now we meet! At last, my dear Constance, at long last we meet!”

  With which, Milady stretched out her arms to Madame Bonacieux, who, convinced by her words, saw in Milady not the rival she had believed but a sincere, cordial and devoted friend.

  “Forgive me, Madame, forgive me!” Constance, locked in Milady’s embrace, was weeping over her shoulder. “I was jealous. But I do love him so!”

  For a moment the two women remained silent, their arms about each other as Madame Bonacieux wept softly. Had Milady’s strength equalled her hatred, she would have strangled her. Instead she smiled.

  “What a poor, pretty, devoted creature you are!” she said unctuously. “And how happy I am to see you!” Unclasping her arms, she raised Madame Bonacieux to her feet and surveyed her as a beast of prey surveys its timid victim. “Ay, it is Constance Bonacieux. Everything D’Artagnan told me was true; I recognize you perfectly.”

  Madame Bonacieux saw in the other’s eyes only pity and sympathy. Indeed it would have called for much experience to read in the brilliance of Milady’s glance and in the purity of her expression the hatred and ferocity that possessed her.

  “You know what I have suffered,” the novice said, “and you know how unhappy he has been! But to suffer for his sake is to be happy beyond all telling.”

  “Quite so!” Milady replied mechanically, her thoughts elsewhere.

  “But my troubles are over,” Madame Bonacieux continued, “my torment is at an end. Tomorrow—or perhaps this very evening—I shall see him again and the past will be no more than a bad dream.”

  “Tomorrow? This evening?” The words roused Milady from her reverie as she repeated them. “What do you mean, child? Do you expect news of him?”

  “I expect him … himself … in person.…”

  “You expect D’Artagnan?”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  “Impossible, child. D’Artagnan is at the siege of La Rochelle with the Cardinal. He cannot leave until the city has fallen.”

  “You may think so, Madame. But the truth is that a noble and loyal gentleman like my D’Artagnan can accomplish miracles.”

  “Perhaps. But how can he leave the front?”

  “Read this, Madame,” the young woman cried in excess of pride and joy as she handed Milady a letter.

  Milady recognized the handwriting of Madame de Chevreuse.

  “I always suspected some secret intelligence in that quarter,” she mused. Then avidly she read the following:

  My dear child:

  Hold yourself in readiness. Our friend (and of course you know whom I mean) will be seeing you soon. His sole purpose in coming is to release you from the imprisonment to which you had to be committed for your own security. So make ready to leave the convent and never despair of us.

  Our charming Gascon has just proved himself to be as brave and faithful as ever. Tell him that certain parties are very grateful to him for the warning he has given them.

  “Well, the letter is clear enough,” Milady commented. “Do you happen to know what D’Artagnan’s warning referred to?”

  “No, Madame, but I can guess. I suppose he warned the Queen against some fresh machination of the Cardinal’s.”

  “Yes, that must be it!” Milady returned the letter to Madame Bonacieux. “Yes, certainly.” She bowed her head pensively over her bosom. Suddenly the echo of a horse’s hoofs sent Madame Bonacieux darting to the window.

  “It is probably D’Artagnan!” she cried, wild with joy.

  For once Milady was at a loss. So many things were happening to her with such startling suddenness that she could but lie back in bed, wide-eyed.

  “You
mean D’Artagnan …? D’Artagnan is coming here …? Now …?”

  “Alas, no!” Madame Bonacieux peered through the window. “It is not D’Artagnan!” She sighed. “The horseman is stopping at the gate.” A pause. “Now he is ringing.”

  Milady sprang out of bed.

  “You are quite sure it is not D’Artagnan?” she asked. “I am certain—”

  “Are you sure you can really see—?”

  “I could recognize my D’Artagnan by the plume in his hat, the tip of his cloak and the sword under it—”

  Milady began to dress.

  “Where is this man now?” she asked.

  “He is coming in here.”

  “He has come either for you or for me.”

  “Oh, Madame, how nervous you are. Do take things calmly.”

  “Yes, I am nervous, I admit. I have not your confidence. And I am desperately afraid of the Cardinal.”

  “Hush, Madame, someone is coming!”

  The door swung open and the Mother Superior appeared on the doorsill.

  “Did you come from Boulogne?” she asked Milady.

  “Yes, I did, Reverend Mother.” Milady sought to regain her calm. “Who wants me?”

  “A gentleman who refuses to give his name. He told me to say he comes from the Cardinal.”

  “He wants to speak to me?”

  “He wants to speak to a lady who arrived from Boulogne.”

  “Then let him come in, if you please, Madame.”

  “Ah, God, can it be bad news?” Madame Bonacieux groaned. “Perhaps—”

  “I fear it is very bad news.”

  “I will leave you with this stranger, Madame. But the moment he goes, I will return, if you permit.”

  “If I permit? I beseech you to do so.”

  The Superior and Madame Bonacieux retired; Milady, alone, drew herself up and stared at the door. An instant later the jangling of spurs resounding on the staircase … the sound of footsteps drew near … the door opened … a man stood on the threshold.…