“And who has abandoned you–is that it?”
“I have been sufficiently unjust to believe so; but during the last two or three days I have obtained proof to the contrary, for which I thank God–for it would have cost me very dear to think she had forgotten me. But you, madame, you appear to be free,” continued the novice; “and if you were inclined to fly it only rests with yourself to do so.”
“Whither would you have me go, without friends, without money, in a part of France with which I am unacquainted, and where I have never been before?”
“Oh,” cried the novice, “as to friends, you would have them wherever you want, you appear so good and are so beautiful!”
“That does not prevent,” replied Milady, softening her smile so as to give it an angelic expression, “my being alone or being persecuted.”
“Hear me,” said the novice; “we must trust in heaven. There always comes a moment when the good you have done pleads your cause before God; and see, perhaps it is a happiness for you, humble and powerless as I am, that you have met with me, for if I leave this place, well-I have powerful friends, who, after having exerted themselves on my account, may also exert themselves for you.”
“Oh, when I said I was alone,” said Milady, hoping to make the novice talk by talking of herself, “it is not for want of friends in high places; but these friends themselves tremble before the cardinal. The queen herself does not dare to oppose the terrible minister. I have proof that her Majesty, notwithstanding her excellent heart, has more than once been obliged to abandon to the anger of his Eminence persons who had served her.”
“Trust me, madame; the queen may appear to have abandoned those persons, but we must not put faith in appearances. The more they are persecuted, the more she thinks of them; and often, when they least expect it, they have proof of a kind remembrance.”
“Alas!” said Milady, “I believe so; the queen is so good!”
“Oh, you know her, then, that lovely and noble queen, that you speak of her thus!” cried the novice, with enthusiasm.
“That is to say,” replied Milady, driven into her entrenchment, “that I have not the honor of knowing her personally; but I know a great number of her most intimate friends. I am acquainted with Monsieur de Putange; I met Monsieur Dujart in England; I know Monsieur de Treville.”
“Monsieur de Treville!” exclaimed the novice, “do you know Monsieur de Treville?”
“Yes, perfectly well–intimately even.”
“The captain of the king’s Musketeers?”
“The captain of the king’s Musketeers.”
“Why, then, only see!” cried the novice; “we shall soon be well acquainted, almost friends. If you know Monsieur de Treville, you must have visited him?”
“Often!” said Milady, who, having entered this track, and perceiving that falsehood succeeded, was determined to follow it to the end.
“With him, then, you must have seen some of his Musketeers?”
“All those he is in the habit of receiving!” replied Milady, for whom this conversation began to have a real interest.
“Name a few of those whom you know, and you will see if they are my friends.”
“Well!” said Milady, embarrassed, ” I know Monsieur de Louvigny, Monsieur de Courtivron, Monsieur de Ferussac.”
The novice let her speak, then seeing that she paused, she said, “Don’t you know a gentleman named Athos?”
Milady became as pale as the sheets in which she was lying, and mistress as she was of herself, could not help uttering a cry, seizing the hand of the novice, and devouring her with looks.
“What is the matter? Good God!” asked the poor woman, “have I said anything that has wounded you?”
“No; but the name struck me, because I also have known that gentleman, and it appeared strange to me to meet with a person who appears to know him well.”
“Oh, yes, very well; not only him, but some of his friends, Messieurs Porthos and Aramis!”
“Indeed! you know them likewise? I know them,” cried Milady, who began to feel a chill penetrate her heart.
“Well, if you know them, you know that they are good and free companions. Why do you not apply to them, if you stand in need of help?”