s apparently
beloved. A secret voice whispered to him, at the bottom of his heart,
that he was but an instrument of vengeance, that he was only caressed
till he had given death; but pride, but self-love, but madness silenced
this voice and stifled its murmurs. And then our Gascon, with that large
quantity of conceit which we know he possessed, compared himself with de
Wardes, and asked himself why, after all, he should not be beloved for
himself?

He was absorbed entirely by the sensations of the moment. Milady was
no longer for him that woman of fatal intentions who had for a moment
terrified him; she was an ardent, passionate mistress, abandoning
herself to love which she also seemed to feel. Two hours thus glided
away. When the transports of the two lovers were calmer, Milady, who
had not the same motives for forgetfulness that d'Artagnan had, was the
first to return to reality, and asked the young man if the means which
were on the morrow to bring on the encounter between him and de Wardes
were already arranged in his mind.

But d'Artagnan, whose ideas had taken quite another course, forgot
himself like a fool, and answered gallantly that it was too late to
think about duels and sword thrusts.

This coldness toward the only interests that occupied her mind terrified
Milady, whose questions became more pressing.

Then d'Artagnan, who had never seriously thought of this impossible
duel, endeavored to turn the conversation; but he could not succeed.
Milady kept him within the limits she had traced beforehand with her
irresistible spirit and her iron will.

D'Artagnan fancied himself very cunning when advising Milady to
renounce, by pardoning de Wardes, the furious projects she had formed.

But at the first word the young woman started, and exclaimed in a
sharp, bantering tone, which sounded strangely in the darkness, "Are you
afraid, dear Monsieur d'Artagnan?"

"You cannot think so, dear love!" replied d'Artagnan; "but now, suppose
this poor Comte de Wardes were less guilty than you think him?"

"At all events," said Milady, seriously, "he has deceived me, and from
the moment he deceived me, he merited death."

"He shall die, then, since you condemn him!" said d'Artagnan, in so firm
a tone that it appeared to Milady an undoubted proof of devotion. This
reassured her.

We cannot say how long the night seemed to Milady, but d'Artagnan
believed it to be hardly two hours before the daylight peeped through
the