“Drink,” said she; “this wine will give you strength—drink!”
And she put the glass to the lips of the young woman, who drank mechanically.
“This is not the way I wanted to avenge myself,” said milady, setting the glass on the table with an infernal smile, “but, faith! one does what one can.” And she rushed out of the room.
Madame Bonacieux saw her go without being able to follow her. She was like those people who dream they are pursued, and who vainly struggle to walk.
A few moments passed. A frightful noise was heard at the gate. Every instant Madame Bonacieux expected to see milady, but she did not return.
At length she heard the grating of the hinges of the opening gates; the noise of boots and spurs resounded on the stairs. There was a great murmur of voices coming nearer and nearer; it seemed to her she heard her own name pronounced.
All at once she uttered a loud cry of joy, and darted toward the door. She had recognized D’Artagnan’s voice.
“D’Artagnan! D’Artagnan!” cried she, “is it you? This way! this way!”
“Constance! Constance!” replied the young man, “where are you? My God!”
At the same moment the door of the cell yielded to a shock, rather than opened. Several men rushed into the room. Madame Bonacieux had sunk into an armchair, without the power of moving.
D’Artagnan threw down a pistol, still smoking, which he held in his hand, and fell on his knees before his mistress. Athos replaced his in his belt. Porthos and Aramis, who held their drawn swords in their hands, returned them to their scabbards.
“O D’Artagnan! my beloved D’Artagnan! You have come, then, at last. You have not deceived me! It is indeed you!”
“Yes, yes, Constance!—reunited!”
“Oh, how foolish she was to tell me you would not come! I hoped silently. I was not willing to flee. Oh, how rightly I have acted! How happy I am!”
At the word she, Athos, who had quietly seated himself, suddenly got up.
“She! Who?” asked D’Artagnan.
“Why, my companion. She who, out of friendship for me, wished to save me from my persecutors. She who, mistaking you for the cardinal’s guards, has just made her escape.”
“Your companion!” cried D’Artagnan, becoming paler than his mistress’s white veil. “What companion do you mean?”
“She whose carriage was at the gate; a woman who calls herself your friend, D’Artagnan; a woman to whom you have told everything.”
“But her name, her name!” cried D’Artagnan; “my God! don’t you know her name?”
“Yes, it was pronounced before me. Stop—but—it is strange—oh, my God! my head swims—I cannot see!”
“Help, friends, help! Her hands are like ice!” cried D’Artagnan; “she is ill! Great God, she is growing unconscious!”
While Porthos was calling for help at the top of his voice, Aramis ran to the table to get a glass of water. But he stopped at seeing the horrible alteration that had taken place in the face of Athos, who, standing before the table, his hair rising from his head, his eyes fixed in stupor, was looking at one of the glasses, and seemed a prey to the most horrible doubt.
“Oh,” said Athos, “oh no! It is impossible! God would not permit such a crime!”
Madame Bonacieux opened her eyes under D’Artagnan’s kisses.
“She revives!” cried the young man.
“Madame,” said Athos—“madame, in Heaven’s name, whose empty glass is this?”
“Mine, sir,” said the young woman, in a dying voice.
“But who poured out for you the wine that was in this glass?”
“she.”
“But who is she?”
“Oh, I remember,” said Madame Bonacieux; “the Countess Winter.”
The four friends uttered one and the same cry, but the cry of Athos dominated over all the rest.
At that moment Madame Bonacieux’s face grew livid, a stifled agony overcame her, and she sank panting into the arms of Porthos and Aramis.
D’Artagnan seized Athos’s hand with anguish difficult to describe.
“What! do you believe—”
His voice was stifled by sobs.
“I believe everything,” said Athos.
“D’Artagnan! D’Artagnan!” cried Madame Bonacieux, “where art thou? Do not leave me! Thou seest that I am dying!”
D’Artagnan let fall Athos’s hand, which he still held convulsively clasped in his, and hastened to her.
Her beautiful face was distorted, her glassy eyes were fixed, a convulsive shuddering shook her body, the sweat stood on her brow.
