All eyes were turned towards Athos, whose real name that was, and who made a sign with his head that all was true which the executioner had said.
“Then,” resumed he, “mad, desperate, determined to get rid of an existence from which she had stolen everything, honor and happiness, my poor brother returned to Lille, and learning the sentence which had condemned me in his place, surrendered himself, and hanged himself that same night from the iron bar of the loophole of his prison.
“To do justice to them who had condemned me, they kept their word. As soon as the identity of my brother was proved, I was set at liberty.
“That is the crime of which I accuse her; that is the cause for which she was branded.”
“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said Athos, “what is the penalty you demand against this woman?”
“The punishment of death,” replied d’Artagnan.
“My Lord de Winter,” continued Athos, “what is the penalty you demand against this woman?”
“The punishment of death,” replied Lord de Winter.
“Messieurs Porthos and Aramis,” repeated Athos, “you who are her judges, what is the sentence you pronounce upon this woman?”
“The punishment of death,” replied the Musketeers, in a hollow voice.
Milady uttered a frightful shriek, and dragged herself along several paces upon her knees toward her judges.
Athos stretched out his hand toward her.
“Charlotte Backson, Comtesse de la Fere, Milady de Winter,” said he, “your crimes have wearied men on earth and God in heaven. If you know a prayer, say it–for you are condemned, and you shall die.”
At these words, which left no hope, Milady raised herself in all her pride, and wished to speak; but her strength failed her. She felt that a powerful and implacable hand seized her by the hair, and dragged her away as irrevocably as fatality drags humanity. She did not, therefore, even attempt the least resistance, and went out of the cottage.
Lord de Winter, d’Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, went out close behind her. The lackeys followed their masters, and the chamber was left solitary, with its broken window, its open door, and its smoky lamp burning sadly on the table.
66 EXECUTION
It was near midnight; the moon, lessened by its decline, and reddened by the last traces of the storm, arose behind the little town of Armentieres, which showed against its pale light the dark outline of its houses, and the skeleton of its high belfry. In front of them the Lys rolled its waters like a river of molten tin; while on the other side was a black mass of trees, profiled on a stormy sky, invaded by large coppery clouds which created a sort of twilight amid the night. On the left was an old abandoned mill, with its motionless wings, from the ruins of which an owl threw out its shrill, periodical, and monotonous cry. On the right and on the left of the road, which the dismal procession pursued, appeared a few low, stunted trees, which looked like deformed dwarfs crouching down to watch men traveling at this sinister hour.
From time to time a broad sheet of lightning opened the horizon in its whole width, darted like a serpent over the black mass of trees, and like a terrible scimitar divided the heavens and the waters into two parts. Not a breath of wind now disturbed the heavy atmosphere. A deathlike silence oppressed all nature. The soil was humid and glittering with the rain which had recently fallen, and the refreshed herbs sent forth their perfume with additional energy.
Two lackeys dragged Milady, whom each held by one arm. The executioner walked behind them, and Lord de Winter, d’Artagnan, Porthos, and Aramis walked behind the executioner. Planchet and Bazin came last.
The two lackeys conducted Milady to the bank of the river. Her mouth was mute; but her eyes spoke with their inexpressible eloquence, supplicating by turns each of those on whom she looked.
Being a few paces in advance she whispered to the lackeys, “A thousand pistoles to each of you, if you will assist my escape; but if you deliver me up to your masters, I have near at hand avengers who will make you pay dearly for my death.”