D’Artagnan obeyed.
“We shall wait for you, d’Artagnan,” said Athos, loud enough for the cardinal to hear him.
His Eminence bent his brow, stopped for an instant, and then kept on his way without uttering a single word.
D’Artagnan entered after the cardinal, and behind d’Artagnan the door was guarded.
His Eminence entered the chamber which served him as a study, and made a sign to Rochefort to bring in the young Musketeer.
Rochefort obeyed and retired.
D’Artagnan remained alone in front of the cardinal; this was his second interview with Richelieu, and he afterward confessed that he felt well assured it would be his last.
Richelieu remained standing, leaning against the mantelpiece; a table was between him and d’Artagnan.
“Monsieur,” said the cardinal, “you have been arrested by my orders.”
“So they tell me, monseigneur.”
“Do you know why?”
“No, monseigneur, for the only thing for which I could be arrested is still unknown to your Eminence.”
Richelieu looked steadfastly at the young man.
“Holloa!” said he, “what does that mean?”
“If Monseigneur will have the goodness to tell me, in the first place, what crimes are imputed to me, I will then tell him the deeds I have really done.”
“Crimes are imputed to you which had brought down far loftier heads than yours, monsieur,” said the cardinal.
“What, monseigneur?” said d’Artagnan, with a calmness which astonished the cardinal himself.
“You are charged with having corresponded with the enemies of the kingdom; you are charged with having surprised state secrets; you are charged with having tried to thwart the plans of your general.”
“And who charges me with this, monseigneur?” said d’Artagnan, who had no doubt the accusation came from Milady, “a woman branded by the justice of the country; a woman who has espoused one man in France and another in England; a woman who poisoned her second husband and who attempted both to poison and assassinate me!”
“What do you say, monsieur?” cried the cardinal, astonished; “and of what woman are you speaking thus?”
“Of Milady de Winter,” replied d’Artagnan, “yes, of Milady de Winter, of whose crimes your Eminence is doubtless ignorant, since you have honored her with your confidence.”
“Monsieur,” said the cardinal, “if Milady de Winter has committed the crimes you lay to her charge, she shall be punished.”
“She has been punished, monseigneur.”
“And who has punished her?”
“We.”
“She is in prison?”
“She is dead.”
“Dead!” repeated the cardinal, who could not believe what he heard, “dead! Did you not say she was dead?”
“Three times she attempted to kill me, and I pardoned her; but she murdered the woman I loved. Then my friends and I took her, tried her, and condemned her.”
D’Artagnan then related the poisoning of Mme. Bonacieux in the convent of the Carmelites at Bethune, the trial in the isolated house, and the execution on the banks of the Lys.
A shudder crept through the body of the cardinal, who did not shudder readily.
But all at once, as if undergoing the influence of an unspoken thought, the countenance of the cardinal, till then gloomy, cleared up by degrees, and recovered perfect serenity.
“So,” said the cardinal, in a tone that contrasted strongly with the severity of his words, “you have constituted yourselves judges, without remembering that they who punish without license to punish are assassins?”
“Monseigneur, I swear to you that I never for an instant had the intention of defending my head against you. I willingly submit to any punishment your Eminence may please to inflict upon me. I do not hold life dear enough to be afraid of death.”
“Yes, I know you are a man of a stout heart, monsieur,” said the cardinal, with a voice almost affectionate; “I can therefore tell you beforehand you shall be tried, and even condemned.”
“Another might reply to your Eminence that he had his pardon in his pocket. I content myself with saying: Command, monseigneur; I am ready.”
“Your pardon?” said Richelieu, surprised.
“Yes, monseigneur,” said d’Artagnan.
“And signed by whom–by the king?” And the cardinal pronounced these words with a singular expression of contempt.
“No, by your Eminence.”
“By me? You are insane, monsieur.”
“Monseigneur will doubtless recognize his own handwriting.”