The Drop of Water
Rochefort had scarcely departed when Madame Bonacieux came back. She found milady with a smiling countenance.
“Come and sit down close to me,” said milady.
Milady arose and went to the door, opened it, looked down the corridor, and then returned and seated herself near Madame Bonacieux.
“That man,” said milady, lowering her voice, “is my brother!”
“Your brother!” cried Madame Bonacieux.
“Well, no one must know this secret, my dear, but yourself. If you reveal it to any one at all I shall be lost, and you also, perhaps.”
“O Heavens!”
“Listen to me. This is what has happened: My brother, who was coming to my assistance, to take me away by force if it were necessary, fell in with the cardinal’s emissary coming in search of me. He followed him. Reaching a solitary and retired part of the road, he drew his sword and required the messenger to deliver up to him the papers of which he was the bearer. The messenger resisted; my brother killed him.”
“Oh!” said Madame Bonacieux, with a shudder.
“Remember that was the only way. Then my brother determined to substitute cunning for force. He took the papers, and presented himself here as the cardinal’s emissary, and in an hour or two a carriage will come to take me away by order of his Eminence.”
“I understand. Your brother sends the carriage.”
“Exactly so.”
“But D’Artagnan is coming!”
“Do not be deceived. D’Artagnan and his friends are detained at the siege of Rochelle.”
“How do you know that?”
“My brother met some of the cardinal’s emissaries in the uniform of musketeers. You would have been summoned to the gate; you would have thought you went to meet friends; you would have been carried off and taken back again to Paris.”
“Dear lady,” said Madame Bonacieux, “pardon me for interrupting you, but what do you advise me to do? Good Heavens! You have more experience than I have. Speak! I will listen.”
“There would be a very ****** way, very natural—”
“What? Say!”
“To wait, concealed in the neighbourhood, until you satisfied your-self who the men were who came to ask for you.”
“But where can I wait?”
“Oh, there is no difficulty in that. I shall stop and conceal myself at a few leagues from here, till my brother can rejoin me. Well, I will take you with me. We can conceal ourselves and wait together.”
“Oh yes, yes; you are right. In this way all will go well—all will be for the best; but do not go far from here.”
Milady was wrong in fearing that Madame Bonacieux would have any suspicions. The poor young woman was too innocent to suppose that any woman could be guilty of such perfidy. Besides, the name of the Countess Winter, which she had heard the abbess pronounce, was perfectly unknown to her, and she was even ignorant that she had so great and so fatal a share in the misfortunes of her life.
“You see,” said she, “everything is ready. The abbess suspects nothing. Take a mouthful to eat, drink a swallow of wine, and let us go.”
“Yes,” said Madame Bonacieux mechanically; “let us go.” Milady made her a sign to sit down before her, poured out a small glass of Spanish wine for her, and helped her to some of the breast of a chicken.
Madame Bonacieux ate a few mouthfuls mechanically, and just touched the glass to her lips.
“Come, come!” said milady, lifting hers to her mouth, “do as I do.”
But just as she was putting hers to her mouth her hand remained suspended. She had heard something on the road which sounded like the far-off beat of hoofs approaching; then, almost at the same time, it seemed to her that she heard the neighing of horses.
This noise roused her from her joy as a storm awakens the sleeper in the midst of a beautiful dream. She grew pale and ran to the window, while Madame Bonacieux, rising all of a tremble, supported herself on her chair to avoid falling.
Nothing was yet to be seen, only they heard the galloping constantly draw nearer.
“O Heavens!” cried Madame Bonacieux, “what is that noise?”
“It is either our friends or our enemies,” said milady, with her terrible coolness. “Stay where you are. I will tell you.”
Madame Bonacieux remained standing, mute, pale, and motionless.
The noise became louder; the horses could not be more than a hundred paces distant. If they were not yet to be seen, it was because the road made a bend. Yet the noise became so distinct that the horses might be counted by the sharply defined sound of their hoofs.
Milady gazed with all her eyes; it was just light enough for her to recognize those who were coming.
Suddenly, at a turn of the road, she saw the glitter of laced hats and the waving plumes; she counted two, then five, then eight horsemen. One of them was two lengths of his horse in advance of the others.
Milady uttered a stifled groan. In the first horseman she recognized D’Artagnan.
“O Heavens, Heavens!” cried Madame Bonacieux, “what is it? what is it?”
“It is the cardinal’s guards—not an instant to be lost!” cried milady. “Let us fly! let us fly!”
“Yes, yes, let us fly!” repeated Madame Bonacieux, but without being able to take a step, fixed to the spot as she was by terror.
They heard the horsemen riding under the windows.
“Come on, then! do come on!” cried milady, striving to drag the young woman along by the arm. “Thanks to the garden, we yet can escape. I have the key. But let us make haste. In five minutes it will be too late!”
Madame Bonacieux tried to walk, took two steps, and sank on her knees.
Milady strove to lift her up and carry her, but could not succeed.
At this moment they heard the rolling of the carriage, which as soon as the musketeers were seen set off at a gallop. Then three or four shots were fired.
“For the last time, will you come?” cried milady.
“Oh, my God, my God ! You see my strength fails me. You see plainly I cannot walk. Escape yourself!”
“Escape myself, and leave you here! No, no, never!” cried milady.
All at once she stopped; a livid flash darted from her eyes. She ran to the table, poured into Madame Bonacieux’s glass the contents of a ring which she opened with singular quickness.
It was a grain of a reddish colour, which instantly melted.
