The D'Artagnan Romances - Complete Series (All 6 Books in One Edition). Alexandre Dumas

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and trembling, Milady repulsed d’Artagnan’s attempted embrace by a violent blow on the chest, as she sprang out of bed.

      It was almost broad daylight.

      D’Artagnan detained her by her night dress of fine India linen, to implore her pardon; but she, with a strong movement, tried to escape. Then the cambric was torn from her beautiful shoulders; and on one of those lovely shoulders, round and white, d’Artagnan recognized, with inexpressible astonishment, the FLEUR-DE-LIS—that indelible mark which the hand of the infamous executioner had imprinted.

      “Great God!” cried d’Artagnan, loosing his hold of her dress, and remaining mute, motionless, and frozen.

      But Milady felt herself denounced even by his terror. He had doubtless seen all. The young man now knew her secret, her terrible secret—the secret she concealed even from her maid with such care, the secret of which all the world was ignorant, except himself.

      She turned upon him, no longer like a furious woman, but like a wounded panther.

      “Ah, wretch!” cried she, “you have basely betrayed me, and still more, you have my secret! You shall die.”

      And she flew to a little inlaid casket which stood upon the dressing table, opened it with a feverish and trembling band, drew from it a small poniard, with a golden haft and a sharp thin blade, and then threw herself with a bound upon d’Artagnan.

      Although the young man was brave, as we know, he was terrified at that wild countenance, those terribly dilated pupils, those pale cheeks, and those bleeding lips. He recoiled to the other side of the room as he would have done from a serpent which was crawling toward him, and his sword coming in contact with his nervous hand, he drew it almost unconsciously from the scabbard. But without taking any heed of the sword, Milady endeavored to get near enough to him to stab him, and did not stop till she felt the sharp point at her throat.

      She then tried to seize the sword with her hands; but d’Artagnan kept it free from her grasp, and presenting the point, sometimes at her eyes, sometimes at her breast, compelled her to glide behind the bedstead, while he aimed at making his retreat by the door which led to Kitty’s apartment.

      Milady during this time continued to strike at him with horrible fury, screaming in a formidable way.

      As all this, however, bore some resemblance to a duel, d’Artagnan began to recover himself little by little.

      “Well, beautiful lady, very well,” said he; “but, PARDIEU, if you don’t calm yourself, I will design a second FLEUR-DE-LIS upon one of those pretty cheeks!”

      “Scoundrel, infamous scoundrel!” howled Milady.

      But d’Artagnan, still keeping on the defensive, drew near to Kitty’s door. At the noise they made, she in overturning the furniture in her efforts to get at him, he in screening himself behind the furniture to keep out of her reach, Kitty opened the door. D’Artagnan, who had unceasingly maneuvered to gain this point, was not at more than three paces from it. With one spring he flew from the chamber of Milady into that of the maid, and quick as lightning, he slammed to the door, and placed all his weight against it, while Kitty pushed the bolts.

      Then Milady attempted to tear down the doorcase, with a strength apparently above that of a woman; but finding she could not accomplish this, she in her fury stabbed at the door with her poniard, the point of which repeatedly glittered through the wood. Every blow was accompanied with terrible imprecations.

      “Quick, Kitty, quick!” said d’Artagnan, in a low voice, as soon as the bolts were fast, “let me get out of the hotel; for if we leave her time to turn round, she will have me killed by the servants.”

      “But you can’t go out so,” said Kitty; “you are naked.”

      “That’s true,” said d’Artagnan, then first thinking of the costume he found himself in, “that’s true. But dress me as well as you are able, only make haste; think, my dear girl, it’s life and death!”

      Kitty was but too well aware of that. In a turn of the hand she muffled him up in a flowered robe, a large hood, and a cloak. She gave him some slippers, in which he placed his naked feet, and then conducted him down the stairs. It was time. Milady had already rung her bell, and roused the whole hotel. The porter was drawing the cord at the moment Milady cried from her window, “Don’t open!”

      The young man fled while she was still threatening him with an impotent gesture. The moment she lost sight of him, Milady tumbled fainting into her chamber.

Chapter 38 HOW, WITHOUT INCOMMODING HIMSELF, ATHOS PROCURED HIS EQUIPMENT

      D’Artagnan was so completely bewildered that without taking any heed of what might become of Kitty he ran at full speed across half Paris, and did not stop till he came to Athos’s door. The confusion of his mind, the terror which spurred him on, the cries of some of the patrol who started in pursuit of him, and the hooting of the people who, notwithstanding the early hour, were going to their work, only made him precipitate his course.

      He crossed the court, ran up the two flights to Athos’s apartment, and knocked at the door enough to break it down.

      Grimaud came, rubbing his half-open eyes, to answer this noisy summons, and d’Artagnan sprang with such violence into the room as nearly to overturn the astonished lackey.

      In spite of his habitual silence, the poor lad this time found his speech.

      “Holloa, there!” cried he; “what do you want, you strumpet? What’s your business here, you hussy?”

      D’Artagnan threw off his hood, and disengaged his hands from the folds of the cloak. At sight of the mustaches and the naked sword, the poor devil perceived he had to deal with a man. He then concluded it must be an assassin.

      “Help! murder! help!” cried he.

      “Hold your tongue, you stupid fellow!” said the young man; “I am d’Artagnan; don’t you know me? Where is your master?”

      “You, Monsieur d’Artagnan!” cried Grimaud, “impossible.”

      “Grimaud,” said Athos, coming out of his apartment in a dressing gown, “Grimaud, I thought I heard you permitting yourself to speak?”

      “Ah, monsieur, it is—”

      “Silence!”

      Grimaud contented himself with pointing d’Artagnan out to his master with his finger.

      Athos recognized his comrade, and phlegmatic as he was, he burst into a laugh which was quite excused by the strange masquerade before his eyes—petticoats falling over his shoes, sleeves tucked up, and mustaches stiff with agitation.

      “Don’t laugh, my friend!” cried d’Artagnan; “for heaven’s sake, don’t laugh, for upon my soul, it’s no laughing matter!”

      And he pronounced these words with such a solemn air and with such a real appearance of terror, that Athos eagerly seized his hand, crying, “Are you wounded, my friend? How pale you are!”

      “No, but I have just met with a terrible adventure! Are you alone, Athos?”

СКАЧАТЬ