“The lord of the estate on which the curate’s church was situated saw this pretended sister, and fell in love with her so sincerely that he offered to marry her. Then she left the man whom she had ruined for the man whom she was destined to ruin, and became the Comtesse de la Fère—”

All eyes were turned toward Athos, whose real name this was. He bowed his head in token that all that the executioner had said was true.

“Then,” resumed the other, “mad, desperate, determined to get rid of an existence from which she had taken away everything, both honour and happiness, my poor brother returned to Lille, and learning the sentence that had condemned me in his place, gave himself up, and hanged himself that same night from the air-hole of his dungeon cell.

“I must say in justice that they who had condemned me kept their word. As soon as the identity of the body was proved, I was set at liberty.

“That is the crime of which I accuse her. That is the cause of her being branded.”

“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said Athos, “what penalty do you demand against this woman?”

“The penalty of death,” replied D’Artagnan.

“Milord de Winter,” continued Athos, “what penalty do you demand against this woman?”

“The penalty of death,” replied Winter.

“MM. Porthos and Aramis,” repeated Athos, “you who are her judges, what penalty do you pronounce on this woman?”

“The penalty of death,” replied the musketeers in a hollow voice.

Milady uttered a frightful shriek, and dragged herself along on her knees several paces toward her judges.

Athos stretched out his hand toward her.

“Charlotte Backson, Comtesse de la Fére, Milady de Winter,” said he, “your crimes have wearied men on earth and God in heaven. If you know any prayer, say it; for you are condemned, and you shall die.”

At these words, which left her no hope, milady rose to her full height and tried to speak, but her strength failed her. She felt that a powerful and implacable hand was seizing her by the hair, and was dragging her away as irrevocably as fate drags man. She did not, therefore, even attempt to make any resistance, and went out of the cottage.

Lord Winter, D’Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis followed her. The lackeys followed their masters, and the room was left desolate, with its broken window, its open door and its smoky lamp burning forlornly on the table.