“The writing of Madame de Chevreuse!” said Milady to herself. “Ah, I always thought there was some secret understanding in that quarter!” And she greedily read the following few lines:
My Dear Child, Hold yourself ready. OUR FRIEND will see you soon, and he will only see you to release you from that imprisonment in which your safety required you should be concealed. Prepare, then, for your departure, and never despair of us.
Our charming Gascon has just proved himself as brave and faithful as ever. Tell him that certain parties are grateful for the warning he has given.
“Yes, yes,” said Milady; “the letter is precise. Do you know what that warning was?”
“No, I only suspect he has warned the queen against some fresh machinations of the cardinal.”
“Yes, that’s it, no doubt!” said Milady, returning the letter to Mme. Bonacieux, and letting her head sink pensively upon her bosom.
At that moment they heard the gallop of a horse.
“Oh!” cried Mme. Bonacieux, darting to the window, “can it be he?”
Milady remained still in bed, petrified by surprise; so many unexpected things happened to her all at once that for the first time she was at a loss.
“He, he!” murmured she; “can it be he?” And she remained in bed with her eyes fixed.
“Alas, no!” said Mme. Bonacieux; “it is a man I don’t know, although he seems to be coming here. Yes, he checks his pace; he stops at the gate; he rings.”
Milady sprang out of bed.
“You are sure it is not he?” said she.
“Yes, yes, very sure!”
“Perhaps you did not see well.”
“Oh, if I were to see the plume of his hat, the end of his cloak, I should know HIM!”
Milady was dressing herself all the time.
“Yes, he has entered.”
“It is for you or me!”
“My God, how agitated you seem!”
“Yes, I admit it. I have not your confidence; I fear the cardinal.”
“Hush!” said Mme. Bonacieux; “somebody is coming.”
Immediately the door opened, and the superior entered.
“Did you come from Boulogne?” demanded she of Milady.
“Yes,” replied she, trying to recover her self-possession. “Who wants me?”
“A man who will not tell his name, but who comes from the cardinal.”
“And who wishes to speak with me?”
“Who wishes to speak to a lady recently come from Boulogne.”
“Then let him come in, if you please.”
“Oh, my God, my God!” cried Mme. Bonacieux. “Can it be bad news?”
“I fear it.”
“I will leave you with this stranger; but as soon as he is gone, if you will permit me, I will return.”
“PERMIT you? I BESEECH you.”
The superior and Mme. Bonacieux retired.
Milady remained alone, with her eyes fixed upon the door. An instant later, the jingling of spurs was heard upon the stairs, steps drew near, the door opened, and a man appeared.
Milady uttered a cry of joy; this man was the Comte de Rochefort–the demoniacal tool of his Eminence.
62 TWO VARIETIES OF DEMONS
“Ah,” cried Milady and Rochefort together, “it is you!”
“Yes, it is I.”
“And you come?” asked Milady.
“From La Rochelle; and you?”
“From England.”
“Buckingham?”
“Dead or desperately wounded, as I left without having been able to hear anything of him. A fanatic has just assassinated him.”
“Ah,” said Rochefort, with a smile; “this is a fortunate chance–one that will delight his Eminence! Have you informed him of it?”
“I wrote to him from Boulogne. But what brings you here?”
“His Eminence was uneasy, and sent me to find you.”
“I only arrived yesterday.”
“And what have you been doing since yesterday?”
“I have not lost my time.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”
“Do you know whom I have encountered here?”
“No.”
“Guess.”
“How can I?”
“That young woman whom the queen took out of prison.”
“The mistress of that fellow d’Artagnan?”
“Yes; Madame Bonacieux, with whose retreat the cardinal was unacquainted.”
“Well, well,” said Rochefort, “here is a chance which may pair off with the other! Monsieur Cardinal is indeed a privileged man!”
“Imagine my astonishment,” continued Milady, “when I found myself face to face with this woman!”
“Does she know you?”