Toward the end of the evening, however, the beautiful lioness became milder; she smilingly listened to the soft speeches of d’Artagnan, and even gave him her hand to kiss.
D’Artagnan departed, scarcely knowing what to think, but as he was a youth who did not easily lose his head, while continuing to pay his court to Milady, he had framed a little plan in his mind.
He found Kitty at the gate, and, as on the preceding evening, went up to her chamber. Kitty had been accused of negligence and severely scolded. Milady could not at all comprehend the silence of the Comte de Wardes, and she ordered Kitty to come at nine o’clock in the morning to take a third letter.
D’Artagnan made Kitty promise to bring him that letter on the following morning. The poor girl promised all her lover desired; she was mad.
Things passed as on the night before. D’Artagnan concealed himself in his closet; Milady called, undressed, sent away Kitty, and shut the door. As the night before, d’Artagnan did not return home till five o’clock in the morning.
At eleven o’clock Kitty came to him. She held in her hand a fresh billet from Milady. This time the poor girl did not even argue with d’Artagnan; she gave it to him at once. She belonged body and soul to her handsome soldier.
D’Artagnan opened the letter and read as follows:
This is the third time I have written to you to tell you that I love you. Beware that I do not write to you a fourth time to tell you that I detest you.
If you repent of the manner in which you have acted toward me, the young girl who brings you this will tell you how a man of spirit may obtain his pardon.
d’Artagnan colored and grew pale several times in reading this billet.
“Oh, you love her still,” said Kitty, who had not taken her eyes off the young man’s countenance for an instant.
“No, Kitty, you are mistaken. I do not love her, but I will avenge myself for her contempt.”
“Oh, yes, I know what sort of vengeance! You told me that!”
“What matters it to you, Kitty? You know it is you alone whom I love.”
“How can I know that?”
“By the scorn I will throw upon her.”
D’Artagnan took a pen and wrote:
Madame, Until the present moment I could not believe that it was to me your first two letters were addressed, so unworthy did I feel myself of such an honor; besides, I was so seriously indisposed that I could not in any case have replied to them.
But now I am forced to believe in the excess of your kindness, since not only your letter but your servant assures me that I have the good fortune to be beloved by you.
She has no occasion to teach me the way in which a man of spirit may obtain his pardon. I will come and ask mine at eleven o’clock this evening.
To delay it a single day would be in my eyes now to commit a fresh offense.
From him whom you have rendered the happiest of men, Comte de Wardes
This note was in the first place a forgery; it was likewise an indelicacy. It was even, according to our present manners, something like an infamous action; but at that period people did not manage affairs as they do today. Besides, d’Artagnan from her own admission knew Milady culpable of treachery in matters more important, and could entertain no respect for her. And yet, notwithstanding this want of respect, he felt an uncontrollable passion for this woman boiling in his veins–passion drunk with contempt; but passion or thirst, as the reader pleases.
D’Artagnan’s plan was very simple. By Kitty’s chamber he could gain that of her mistress. He would take advantage of the first moment of surprise, shame, and terror, to triumph over her. He might fail, but something must be left to chance. In eight days the campaign would open, and he would be compelled to leave Paris; d’Artagnan had no time for a prolonged love siege.
“There,” said the young man, handing Kitty the letter sealed; “give that to Milady. It is the count’s reply.”