Both went into the bedroom, and as the door remained open, D’Artagnan could hear milady for some time scolding her maid. Then at last she grew cooler, and the conversation turned upon him while Kitty was assisting her mistress to undress.

“Well,” said milady, “I have not seen our Gascon this evening.”

“What, milady! has he not been here?” said Kitty. “Could he be inconstant before having been made happy?”

“Oh no; he must have been prevented by M. de Tréville or M. des Essarts. I understand my game, Kitty. I have him safe.”

“What are you going to do with him, madame?”

“Do with him? O Kitty, there is something between that man and me that he is quite ignorant of. He very nearly made me lose my credit with his Eminence. Oh, I will be revenged for that!”

“I thought you loved him.”

“Love him? I detest him—a fool, who held Lord Winter’s life in his hands and did not kill him, so that I missed three hundred thousand livres a year!”

“That’s true,” said Kitty; “your son was his uncle’s only heir, and until his coming of age you would have had the enjoyment of his fortune.”

D’Artagnan shuddered to his very marrow at hearing this gentle creature reproach him in that sharp voice, which she took such pains to conceal in conversation, for not having killed a man whom he had seen load her with kindnesses.

“Therefore,” continued milady, “I should long ago have had my revenge on him, if the cardinal—I don’t know why—had not requested me to treat him kindly.”

“Oh yes; but you have not treated very kindly the little woman he was so fond of.”

“What! the mercer’s wife of the Rue des Fossoyeurs? Has he not already forgotten she ever existed? Fine vengeance that, ’pon my word!”

A cold sweat broke from D’Artagnan’s brow. This woman was a monster!

He resumed his listening, but unfortunately the toilet was completed.

“That will do,” said milady. “Go into your own room, and to-morrow try again to get for me an answer to the letter I gave you.”

“For M. de Wardes?” said Kitty.

“To be sure; for M. de Wardes.”

“He is a man,” said Kitty, “who appears to be quite different from that poor M. d’Artagnan.”

“Go to bed, miss,” said milady; “I don’t like comments.”

D’Artagnan heard the door close, then the noise of two bolts by which milady fastened herself in. Kitty on her side, as softly as possible, turned the key of the lock, and then D’Artagnan opened the closet door.

“O Heavens!” said Kitty, in a low voice, “what is the matter with you? How pale you are!”