Grimaud hesitated. Mousqueton trembled in all his members.
Athos, who heard Milady’s voice, came sharply up. Lord de Winter did the same.
“Change these lackeys,” said he; “she has spoken to them. They are no longer sure.”
Planchet and Bazin were called, and took the places of Grimaud and Mousqueton.
On the bank of the river the executioner approached Milady, and bound her hands and feet.
Then she broke the silence to cry out, “You are cowards, miserable assassins–ten men combined to murder one woman. Beware! If I am not saved I shall be avenged.”
“You are not a woman,” said Athos, coldly and sternly. “You do not belong to the human species; you are a demon escaped from hell, whither we send you back again.”
“Ah, you virtuous men!” said Milady; “please to remember that he who shall touch a hair of my head is himself an assassin.”
“The executioner may kill, without being on that account an assassin,” said the man in the red cloak, rapping upon his immense sword. “This is the last judge; that is all. NACHRICHTER, as say our neighbors, the Germans.”
And as he bound her while saying these words, Milady uttered two or three savage cries, which produced a strange and melancholy effect in flying away into the night, and losing themselves in the depths of the woods.
“If I am guilty, if I have committed the crimes you accuse me of,” shrieked Milady, “take me before a tribunal. You are not judges! You cannot condemn me!”
“I offered you Tyburn,” said Lord de Winter. “Why did you not accept it?”
“Because I am not willing to die!” cried Milady, struggling. “Because I am too young to die!”
“The woman you poisoned at Bethune was still younger than you, madame, and yet she is dead,” said d’Artagnan.
“I will enter a cloister; I will become a nun,” said Milady.
“You were in a cloister,” said the executioner, “and you left it to ruin my brother.”
Milady uttered a cry of terror and sank upon her knees. The executioner took her up in his arms and was carrying her toward the boat.
“Oh, my God!” cried she, “my God! are you going to drown me?”
These cries had something so heartrending in them that M. d’Artagnan, who had been at first the most eager in pursuit of Milady, sat down on the stump of a tree and hung his head, covering his ears with the palms of his hands; and yet, notwithstanding, he could still hear her cry and threaten.
D’Artagnan was the youngest of all these men. His heart failed him.
“Oh, I cannot behold this frightful spectacle!” said he. “I cannot consent that this woman should die thus!”
Milady heard these few words and caught at a shadow of hope.
“d’Artagnan, d’Artagnan!” cried she; “remember that I loved you!”
The young man rose and took a step toward her.
But Athos rose likewise, drew his sword, and placed himself in the way.
“If you take one step farther, d’Artagnan,” said he, “we shall cross swords together.”
D’Artagnan sank on his knees and prayed.
“Come,” continued Athos, “executioner, do your duty.”
“Willingly, monseigneur,” said the executioner; “for as I am a good Catholic, I firmly believe I am acting justly in performing my functions on this woman.”
“That’s well.”
Athos made a step toward Milady.
“I pardon you,” said he, “the ill you have done me. I pardon you for my blasted future, my lost honor, my defiled love, and my salvation forever compromised by the despair into which you have cast me. Die in peace!”
Lord de Winter advanced in his turn.
“I pardon you,” said he, “for the poisoning of my brother, and the assassination of his Grace, Lord Buckingham. I pardon you for the death of poor Felton; I pardon you for the attempts upon my own person. Die in peace!”
“And I,” said M. d’Artagnan. “Pardon me, madame, for having by a trick unworthy of a gentleman provoked your anger; and I, in exchange, pardon you the murder of my poor love and your cruel vengeance against me. I pardon you, and I weep for you. Die in peace!”
“I am lost!” murmured Milady in English. “I must die!”