“Of Milady de Winter,” replied D’Artagnan—“yes, of Milady de Winter, of whose many crimes your Eminence was doubtless ignorant when you honoured her with your confidence.”

“Sir,” said the cardinal, “if Milady de Winter has committed the crimes which you say, she shall be punished.”

“She is punished, monseigneur.”

“And who has punished her?”

“We.”

“Is she in prison?”

“She is dead.”

“Dead!” repeated the cardinal, who could not believe what he heard. “Dead! Did you say she was dead?”

D’Artagnan then related the poisoning of Madame Bonacieux in the Carmelite convent of Béthune, the trial in the lonely house, and the execution on the banks of the Lys.

“So,” said the cardinal, in a tone the mildness of which contrasted with the severity of his words, “you have constituted yourselves judges, forgetting that they who punish without licence to punish are assassins?”

“Another might reply to your Eminence that he had his pardon in his pocket. I shall content myself with saying, Command, monseigneur; I am ready.”

“Your pardon?” said Richelieu, surprised.

“Yes, monseigneur,” said D’Artagnan.

“And signed by whom? By the king?”

And the cardinal pronounced these words with a singular expression of contempt.

“No; by your Eminence.”

“By me? You are mad, sir!”

“Monseigneur will doubtless recognize his own writing.”

And D’Artagnan presented to the cardinal the precious paper which Athos had forced from milady, and which he had given to D’Artagnan to serve him as a safeguard.

His Eminence took the paper and read in a slow voice, dwelling on every syllable:

“August 5, 1628.

“By my order, and for the good of the State, the bearer hereof has done what he has done.

“Richelieu.”

The cardinal, after reading these two lines, fell into deep thought, but he did not return the paper to D’Artagnan. At last he raised his head, fixed his eagle look upon D’Artagnan’s frank, loyal, intelligent face, and reflected for the third or fourth time what a future this young man had before him, and what resources his activity, his courage, and his understanding could devote to a good master.


  By PanEris using Melati.

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