The Three Musketeers

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Every minute Athos was forced to restrain d'Artagnan, constantly in
advance of the little troop, and to beg him to keep in the line, which
in an instant he again departed from. He had but one thought--to go
forward; and he went.

They passed in silence through the little village of Festubert, where
the wounded servant was, and then skirted the wood of Richebourg. At
Herlier, Planchet, who led the column, turned to the left.

Several times Lord de Winter, Porthos, or Aramis, tried to talk with the
man in the red cloak; but to every interrogation which they put to him
he bowed, without response. The travelers then comprehended that there
must be some reason why the unknown preserved such a silence, and ceased
to address themselves to him.

The storm increased, the flashes succeeded one another more rapidly, the
thunder began to growl, and the wind, the precursor of a hurricane,
whistled in the plumes and the hair of the horsemen.

The cavalcade trotted on more sharply.

A little before they came to Fromelles the storm burst. They spread
their cloaks. There remained three leagues to travel, and they did it
amid torrents of rain.

D'Artagnan took off his hat, and could not be persuaded to make use of
his cloak. He found pleasure in feeling the water trickle over his
burning brow and over his body, agitated by feverish shudders.

The moment the little troop passed Goskal and were approaching the Port,
a man sheltered beneath a tree detached himself from the trunk with
which he had been confounded in the darkness, and advanced into the
middle of the road, putting his finger on his lips.

Athos recognized Grimaud.

"What's the manner?" cried Athos. "Has she left Armentieres?"

Grimaud made a sign in the affirmative. D'Artagnan groaned his teeth.

"Silence, d'Artagnan!" said Athos. I have charged myself with this
affair. It is for me, then, to interrogate Grimaud."

"Where is she?" asked Athos.

Grimaud extended his hands in the direction of the Lys. "Far from
here?" asked Athos.

Grimaud showed his master his forefinger bent.

"Alone?" asked Athos.

Grimaud made the sign yes.

"Gentlemen," said Athos, "she is alone within half a league of us, in
the direction of the river."

"That's well," said d'Artagnan. "Lead us, Grimaud."

Grimaud took his course across the country, and acted as guide to the
cavalcade.

At the end of five hundred paces, more or less, they came to a rivulet,
which they forded.

By the aid of the lightning they perceived the village of Erquinheim.

"Is she there, Grimaud?" asked Athos.

Grimaud shook his head negatively.

"Silence, then!" cried Athos.

And the troop continued their route.

Another flash illuminated all around them. Grimaud extended his arm,
and by the bluish splendor of the fiery serpent they distinguished a
little isolated house on the banks of the river, within a hundred paces
of a ferry.

One window was lighted.

"Here we are!" said Athos.

At this moment a man who had been crouching in a ditch jumped up and
came towards them. It was Mousqueton. He pointed his finger to the
lighted window.

"She is there," said he.

"And Bazin?" asked Athos.

"While I watched the window, he guarded the door."

"Good!" said Athos. "You are good and faithful servants."

Athos sprang from his horse, gave the bridle to Grimaud, and advanced
toward the window, after having made a sign to the rest of the troop to
go toward the door.

The little house was surrounded by a low, quickset hedge, two or three
feet high. Athos sprang over the hedge and went up to the window, which
was without shutters, but had the half-curtains closely drawn.

He mounted the skirting stone that his eyes might look over the curtain.

By the light of a lamp he saw a woman, wrapped in a dark mantle, seated
upon a stool near a dying fire. Her elbows were placed upon a mean
table, and she leaned her head upon her two hands, which were white as
ivory.

He could not distinguish her countenance, but a sinister smile passed
over the lips of Athos. He was not deceived; it was she whom he sought.

At this moment a horse neighed. Milady raised her head, saw close to
the panes the pale face of Athos, and screamed.

Athos, perceiving that she knew him, pushed the window with his knee and
hand. The window yielded. The squares were broken to shivers; and
Athos, like the spectre of vengeance, leaped into the room.

Milady rushed to the door and opened it. More pale and menacing than
Athos, d'Artagnan stood on the threshold.

Milady recoiled, uttering a cry. D'Artagnan, believing she might have
means of flight and fearing she should escape, drew a pistol from his
belt; but Athos raised his hand.

"Put back that weapon, d'Artagnan!" said he; "this woman must be tried,
not assassinated. Wait an instant, my friend, and you shall be
satisfied. Come in, gentlemen."

D'Artagnan obeyed; for Athos had the solemn voice and the powerful
gesture of a judge sent by the Lord himself. Behind d'Artagnan entered
Porthos, Aramis, Lord de Winter, and the man in the red cloak.

The four lackeys guarded the door and the window.

Milady had sunk into a chair, with her hands extended, as if to conjure
this terrible apparition. Perceiving her brother-in-law, she uttered a
terrible cry.

"What do you want?" screamed Milady.

"We want," said Athos, "Charlotte Backson, who first was called Comtesse
de la Fere, and afterwards Milady de Winter, Baroness of Sheffield."

"That is I! that is I!" murmured Milady, in extreme terror; "what do
you want?"

"We wish to judge you according to your crime," said Athos; "you shall
be free to defend yourself. Justify yourself if you can. M.
d'Artagnan, it is for you to accuse her first."

D'Artagnan advanced.

"Before God and before men," said he, "I accuse this woman of having
poisoned Constance Bonacieux, who died yesterday evening."

He turned towards Porthos and Aramis.

"We bear witness to this," said the two Musketeers, with one voice.

D'Artagnan continued: "Before God and before men, I accuse this woman
of having attempted to poison me, in wine which she sent me from
Villeroy, with a forged letter, as if that wine came from my friends.
God preserved me, but a man named Brisemont died in my place."

"We bear witness to this," said Porthos and Aramis, in the
same manner as before.

"Before God and before men, I accuse this woman of having urged me to
the murder of the Baron de Wardes; but as no one else can attest the
truth of this accusation, I attest it myself. I have done." And
d'Artagnan passed to the other side of the room with Porthos and Aramis.

"Your turn, my Lord," said Athos.

The baron came forward.

"Before God and before men," said he, "I accuse this woman of having
caused the assassination of the Duke of Buckingham."

"The Duke of Buckingham assassinated!" cried all present, with one
voice.

"Yes," said the baron, "assassinated. On receiving the warning letter
you wrote to me, I had this woman arrested, and gave her in charge to a
loyal servant. She corrupted this man; she placed the poniard in his
hand; she made him kill the duke. And at this moment, perhaps, Felton
is paying with his head for the crime of this fury!"

A shudder crept through the judges at the revelation of these unknown
crimes.

"That is not all," resumed Lord de Winter. "My brother, who made you
his heir, died in three hours of a strange disorder which left livid
traces all over the body. My sister, how did your husband die?"

"Horror!" cried Porthos and Aramis.

"Assassin of Buckingham, assassin of Felton, assassin of my brother, I
demand justice upon you, and I swear that if it be not granted to me, I
will execute it myself."

And Lord de Winter ranged himself by the side of d'Artagnan, leaving the
place free for another accuser.

Milady let her head sink between her two hands, and tried to recall her
ideas, whirling in a mortal vertigo.

"My turn," said Athos, himself trembling as the lion trembles at the
sight of the serpent--"my turn. I married that woman when she was a
young girl; I married her in opposition to the wishes of all my family;
I gave her my wealth, I gave her my name; and one day I discovered that
this woman was branded--this woman was marked with a FLEUR-DE-LIS on her
left shoulder."

"Oh," said Milady, raising herself, "I defy you to find any tribunal
which pronounced that infamous sentence against me. I defy you to find
him who executed it."

"Silence!" said a hollow voice. "It is for me to reply to that!" And
the man in the red cloak came forward in his turn.

"What man is that? What man is that?" cried Milady, suffocated by
terror, her hair loosening itself, and rising above her livid
countenance as if alive.

All eyes were turned towards this man--for to all except Athos he was
unknown.

Even Athos looked at him with as much stupefaction as the others, for he
knew not how he could in any way find himself mixed up with the horrible
drama then unfolded.

After approaching Milady with a slow and solemn step, so that the table
alone separated them, the unknown took off his mask.

Milady for some time examined with increasing terror that pale face,
framed with black hair and whiskers, the only expression of which was
icy impassibility. Then she suddenly cried, "Oh, no, no!" rising and
retreating to the very wall. "No, no! it is an infernal apparition!
It is not he! Help, help!" screamed she, turning towards the wall, as
if she would tear an opening with her hands.

"Who are you, then?" cried all the witnesses of this scene.

"Ask that woman," said the man in the red cloak, "for you may plainly
see she knows me!"

"The executioner of Lille, the executioner of Lille!" cried Milady, a
prey to insensate terror, and clinging with her hands to the wall to
avoid falling.

Every one drew back, and the man in the red cloak remained standing
alone in the middle of the room.

"Oh, grace, grace, pardon!" cried the wretch, falling on her knees.

The unknown waited for silence, and then resumed, "I told you well that
she would know me. Yes, I am the executioner of Lille, and this is my
history."

All eyes were fixed upon this man, whose words were listened to with
anxious attention.

"That woman was once a young girl, as beautiful as she is today. She
was a nun in the convent of the Benedictines of Templemar. A young
priest, with a simple and trustful heart, performed the duties of the
church of that convent. She undertook his seduction, and succeeded; she
would have seduced a saint.

"Their vows were sacred and irrevocable. Their connection could not
last long without ruining both. She prevailed upon him to leave the
country; but to leave the country, to fly together, to reach another
part of France, where they might live at ease because unknown, money was
necessary. Neither had any. The priest stole the sacred vases, and
sold them; but as they were preparing to escape together, they were both
arrested.

"Eight days later she had seduced the son of the jailer, and escaped.
The young priest was condemned to ten years of imprisonment, and to be
branded. I was executioner of the city of Lille, as this woman has
said. I was obliged to brand the guilty one; and he, gentlemen, was my
brother!

"I then swore that this woman who had ruined him, who was more than his
accomplice, since she had urged him to the crime, should at least share
his punishment. I suspected where she was concealed. I followed her, I
caught her, I bound her; and I imprinted the same disgraceful mark upon
her that I had imprinted upon my poor brother.

"The day after my return to Lille, my brother in his turn succeeded in
making his escape; I was accused of complicity, and was condemned to
remain in his place till he should be again a prisoner. My poor brother
was ignorant of this sentence. He rejoined this woman; they fled
together into Berry, and there he obtained a little curacy. This woman
passed for his sister.

"The Lord of the estate on which the chapel of the curacy was situated
saw this pretend sister, and became enamoured of her--amorous to such a
degree that he proposed to marry her. Then she quitted him she had
ruined for him she was destined to ruin, and became the Comtesse de la
Fere--"

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."

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!"

Then she arose of herself, and cast around her one of those piercing
looks which seemed to dart from an eye of flame.

She saw nothing; she listened, and she heard nothing.

"Where am I to die?" said she.

"On the other bank," replied the executioner.

Then he placed her in the boat, and as he was going to set foot in it
himself, Athos handed him a sum of silver.

"Here," said he, "is the price of the execution, that it may be plain we
act as judges."

"That is correct," said the executioner; "and now in her turn, let this
woman see that I am not fulfilling my trade, but my debt."

And he threw the money into the river.

The boat moved off toward the left-hand shore of the Lys, bearing the
guilty woman and the executioner; all the others remained on the right-
hand bank, where they fell on their knees.

The boat glided along the ferry rope under the shadow of a pale cloud
which hung over the water at that moment.

The troop of friends saw it gain the opposite bank; the figures were
defined like black shadows on the red-tinted horizon.

Milady, during the passage had contrived to untie the cord which
fastened her feet. On coming near the bank, she jumped lightly on shore
and took to flight. But the soil was moist; on reaching the top of the
bank, she slipped and fell upon her knees.

She was struck, no doubt, with a superstitious idea; she conceived that
heaven denied its aid, and she remained in the attitude in which she had
fallen, her head drooping and her hands clasped.

Then they saw from the other bank the executioner raise both his arms
slowly; a moonbeam fell upon the blade of the large sword. The two
arms fell with a sudden force; they heard the hissing of the scimitar
and the cry of the victim, then a truncated mass sank beneath the blow.

The executioner then took off his red cloak, spread it upon the ground,
laid the body in it, threw in the head, tied all up by the four corners,
lifted it on his back, and entered the boat again.

In the middle of the stream he stopped the boat, and suspending his
burden over the water cried in a loud voice, "Let the justice of God be
done!" and he let the corpse drop into the depths of the waters, which
closed over it.

Three days afterward the four Musketeers were in Paris; they had not
exceeded their leave of absence, and that same evening they went to pay
their customary visit to M. de Treville.

"Well, gentlemen," said the brave captain, "I hope you have been well
amused during your excursion."

"Prodigiously," replied Athos in the name of himself and his comrades.

67 CONCLUSION

On the sixth of the following month the king, in compliance with the
promise he had made the cardinal to return to La Rochelle, left his
capital still in amazement at the news which began to spread itself of
Buckingham's assassination.

Although warned that the man she had loved so much was in great danger,
the queen, when his death was announced to her, would not believe the
fact, and even imprudently exclaimed, "it is false; he has just written
to me!"

But the next day she was obliged to believe this fatal intelligence;
Laporte, detained in England, as everyone else had been, by the orders
of Charles I, arrived, and was the bearer of the duke's dying gift to
the queen.

The joy of the king was lively. He did not even give himself the
trouble to dissemble, and displayed it with affectation before the
queen. Louis XIII, like every weak mind, was wanting in generosity.

But the king soon again became dull and indisposed; his brow was not one
of those that long remain clear. He felt that in returning to camp he
should re-enter slavery; nevertheless, he did return.

The cardinal was for him the fascinating serpent, and himself the bird
which flies from branch to branch without power to escape.

The return to La Rochelle, therefore, was profoundly dull. Our four
friends, in particular, astonished their comrades; they traveled
together, side by side, with sad eyes and heads lowered. Athos alone
from time to time raised his expansive brow; a flash kindled in his
eyes, and a bitter smile passed over his lips, then, like his comrades,
he sank again into reverie.

As soon as the escort arrived in a city, when they had conducted the
king to his quarters the four friends either retired to their own or to
some secluded cabaret, where they neither drank nor played; they only
conversed in a low voice, looking around attentively to see that no one
overheard them.

One day, when the king had halted to fly the magpie, and the four
friends, according to their custom, instead of following the sport had
stopped at a cabaret on the high road, a man coming from la Rochelle on
horseback pulled up at the door to drink a glass of wine, and darted a
searching glance into the room where the four Musketeers were sitting.