CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MILADY'S SECRET

In spite of what he now knew about Milady, D'Artagnan felt that it would be considered very impolite and ungentlemanly of him to leave Paris without saying good-bye to her. So two evenings later he called to tell her of his early departure with his regiment for the west coast of France to take part in the siege of Rochelle. After all, she did not know that he had accidentally overheard her talking about him to her maid. Moreover, he did not wish to arouse her suspicions by suddenly stopping his visits which had been increasingly frequent of late.

He did not remain long, and as soon as it was polite to do so, he rose to take his leave. Milady was as gracious as ever, and she smilingly offered to accompany him to the door. As she rose to do so, her dress caught on the heel of her left shoe and was pulled sharply at the back. The thin silk and lace dress, unable to withstand such rough use, gave way at the shoulders.

Seeing Milady's embarrassment, D'Artagnan naturally approached to help disengage her dress, when on one shoulder exposed by the torn dress he saw something so startling that he could only stand and stare in astonishment. There on the white skin of her shoulder was branded the fleur-de-lis, the mark of a convicted criminal made only by the branding-iron of the public executioner.

Milady turned and in a flash realized that he had discovered her secret, her terrible secret, a secret she hid even from her maid.

"Wretch!" she screamed, no longer a woman but a wild cat. "You know my secret. I will kill you."

She flew across the room to a side-table. Pulling open a drawer with trembling hands, she seized a small, golden-handled dagger and, turning, threw herself upon D'Artagnan.

Brave as he was, he shuddered at her changed appearance, her wild look, her blazing eyes, her pale cheeks and bleeding lips gripped between her teeth. He jumped back as if from the attack of a poisonous snake and hardly knowing what he was doing drew his sword.

Heedless of the sword, her torn dress, the immodesty of her naked shoulders, she struck at him furiously with her dagger and only drew back, breathing heavily, when she felt the sharp point of the sword at her throat. Even then, in her blind rage, she tried to seize the sword with her bare hand to get at D'Artagnan, but he kept it free and pointed always either at her throat or her eyes.

Continuing to strike helplessly at him she screamed curses in a horrible voice that in itself would have frightened any ordinary man.

All this, however, was not unlike a duel and D'Artagnan soon recovered himself. He slowly forced Milady back across the room while he made his way round to the door. His one object was to escape. Feeling behind him with his left hand he found the door-handle. He turned it, kicked the door open with his heel and with one spring he was out of the room. As quick as lightning he shut the door behind him and turned the key in the lock.

He sheathed his sword and hurried down the stairs. Standing in the outer door-way for a moment to calm himself and wipe the sweat from his brow, he could still hear Milady's screams and the sound of the dagger as she stabbed blindly at the locked door.

He then left the house and made his way with all speed to Athos's rooms.

Athos was surprised to receive such a late visit from D'Artagnan. He was so pale and troubled that Athos seized his hands and asked, "What is the matter? Is the King dead? Have you killed the Cardinal? Come, come, tell me!"

"Athos," said D'Artagnan, "prepare yourself for a shock."

"Well!" said Athos, after placing a chair for him and opening a bottle of wine.

D'Artagnan hesitated a moment and then whispered, "Milady is marked with a fleur-de-lis on her shoulder."

"What!" cried Athos.

"Are you sure of what you once told me," said D'Artagnan, "that that other woman—the other branded woman, your—your—wife, is really dead?"

Athos uttered a deep sigh and let his head sink into his hands for a few moments.

When he raised his head, D'Artagnan noticed that all signs of grief and sadness had been replaced by a look of hard, cold determination.

"This is a woman about twenty-seven years of age, but looks younger," said D'Artagnan.

"Fair," said Athos, "is she not?"

"Very."

"Clear blue eyes, with dark eyelashes and eyebrows? "

"Yes"

"Tall and well-built."

"Yes."

"The fleur-de-lis is small, rosy in colour, and looks as if efforts have been made to remove the mark."

"Yes."

"But—" said he, as if struck with a sudden thought, "but you said that she was English."

"She is called Milady," said D'Artagnan. "Nevertheless, she may easily be French. She speaks French faultlessly and, after all, Lord Winter is only her brother-in-law."

"It is she, my wife, and I thought she was dead. I will pay her a visit."

"Take care, Athos. She is capable of anything. Did you ever see her angry? "

"No," said Athos.

"She's a wild cat, a tiger," said D'Artagnan, and he then related everything that had happened.

"Upon my word," he continued, "your life wouldn't be worth a hair if she knew you were still alive. Fortunately, the day after to-morrow we shall leave Paris."

"Do you think that life means much to me?" answered Athos.

"There is some new mystery surrounding her, she is certainly one of the Cardinal's spies."

"In that case," said Athos, "take extra care of yourself. The Cardinal hasn't forgiven you over the affair of the Queen's diamonds. If you go out, do not go alone; when you eat, use every precaution. Distrust everything, in short, even your own shadow."

"Luckily," said D'Artagnan, "such precautions will not be necessary as to-morrow we shall be on our way to join the troops near Rochelle. There, I hope, we shall have only men to fear."

"Nevertheless I shall accompany you to your rooms," said Athos.

When they went out an hour later, Athos told Grimaud, his man, to get his musket and follow a few paces behind them.