abbess, smiling, "be reassured; the house in
which you are shall not be a very hard prison, and we will do all in our
power to make you cherish your captivity. You will find here, moreover,
the young woman of whom I spoke, who is persecuted, no doubt, in
consequence of some court intrigue. She is amiable and well-behaved."

"What is her name?"

"She was sent to me by someone of high rank, under the name of Kitty. I
have not tried to discover her other name."

"Kitty!" cried Milady. "What? Are you sure?"

"That she is called so? Yes, madame. Do you know her?"

Milady smiled to herself at the idea which had occurred to her that this
might be her old chambermaid. There was connected with the remembrance
of this girl a remembrance of anger; and a desire of vengeance
disordered the features of Milady, which, however, immediately recovered
the calm and benevolent expression which this woman of a hundred faces
had for a moment allowed them to lose.

"And when can I see this young lady, for whom I already feel so great a
sympathy?" asked Milady.

"Why, this evening," said the abbess; "today even. But you have been
traveling these four days, as you told me yourself. This morning you
rose at five o'clock; you must stand in need of repose. Go to bed and
sleep; at dinnertime we will rouse you."

Although Milady would very willingly have gone without sleep, sustained
as she was by all the excitements which a new adventure awakened in her
heart, ever thirsting for intrigues, she nevertheless accepted the offer
of the superior. During the last fifteen days she had experienced so
many and such various emotions that if her frame of iron was still
capable of supporting fatigue, her mind required repose.

She therefore took leave of the abbess, and went to bed, softly rocked
by the ideas of vengeance which the name of Kitty had naturally brought
to her thoughts. She remembered that almost unlimited promise which
the cardinal had given her if she succeeded in her enterprise. She had
succeeded; d'Artagnan was then in her power!

One thing alone frightened her; that was the remembrance of her
husband, the Comte de la Fere, whom she had believed dead, or at least
expatriated, and whom she found again in Athos-the best friend of
d'Artagnan.

But alas, if he was the friend of d'Artagnan, he must have lent him his
assistance in all the proceedings by whose aid the queen had defeated
the project of his Eminence; if he was the friend