Then, as if to render an account to herself of the changes she could place upon her countenance, so mobile and so expressive, she made it take all expressions from that of passionate anger, which convulsed her features, to that of the most sweet, most affectionate, and most seducing smile. Then her hair assumed successively, under her skillful hands, all the undulations she thought might assist the charms of her face. At length she murmured, satisfied with herself, “Come, nothing is lost; I am still beautiful.”
It was then nearly eight o’clock in the evening. Milady perceived a bed; she calculated that the repose of a few hours would not only refresh her head and her ideas, but still further, her complexion. A better idea, however, came into her mind before going to bed. She had heard something said about supper. She had already been an hour in this apartment; they could not long delay bringing her a repast. The prisoner did not wish to lose time; and she resolved to make that very evening some attempts to ascertain the nature of the ground she had to work upon, by studying the characters of the men to whose guardianship she was committed.
A light appeared under the door; this light announced the reappearance of her jailers. Milady, who had arisen, threw herself quickly into the armchair, her head thrown back, her beautiful hair unbound and disheveled, her bosom half bare beneath her crumpled lace, one hand on her heart, and the other hanging down.
The bolts were drawn; the door groaned upon its hinges. Steps sounded in the chamber, and drew near.
“Place that table there,” said a voice which the prisoner recognized as that of Felton.
The order was executed.
“You will bring lights, and relieve the sentinel,” continued Felton.
And this double order which the young lieutenant gave to the same individuals proved to Milady that her servants were the same men as her guards; that is to say, soldiers.
Felton’s orders were, for the rest, executed with a silent rapidity that gave a good idea of the way in which he maintained discipline.
At length Felton, who had not yet looked at Milady, turned toward her.
“Ah, ah!” said he, “she is asleep; that’s well. When she wakes she can sup.” And he made some steps toward the door.
“But, my lieutenant,” said a soldier, less stoical than his chief, and who had approached Milady, “this woman is not asleep.”
“What, not asleep!” said Felton; “what is she doing, then?”
“She has fainted. Her face is very pale, and I have listened in vain; I do not hear her breathe.”
“You are right,” said Felton, after having looked at Milady from the spot on which he stood without moving a step toward her. “Go and tell Lord de Winter that his prisoner has fainted–for this event not having been foreseen, I don’t know what to do.”
The soldier went out to obey the orders of his officer. Felton sat down upon an armchair which happened to be near the door, and waited without speaking a word, without making a gesture. Milady possessed that great art, so much studied by women, of looking through her long eyelashes without appearing to open the lids. She perceived Felton, who sat with his back toward her. She continued to look at him for nearly ten minutes, and in these ten minutes the immovable guardian never turned round once.
She then thought that Lord de Winter would come, and by his presence give fresh strength to her jailer. Her first trial was lost; she acted like a woman who reckons up her resources. As a result she raised her head, opened her eyes, and sighed deeply.
At this sigh Felton turned round.
“Ah, you are awake, madame,” he said; “then I have nothing more to do here. If you want anything you can ring.”
“Oh, my God, my God! how I have suffered!” said Milady, in that harmonious voice which, like that of the ancient enchantresses, charmed all whom she wished to destroy.
And she assumed, upon sitting up in the armchair, a still more graceful and abandoned position than when she reclined.