Let us return to Milady, whom a glance thrown upon the coast ofFrance has made us lose sight of for an instant.

We shall find her still in the despairing attitude in which weleft her, plunged in an abyss of dismal reflection - a dark hellat the gate of which she has almost left hope behind, because forthe first time she doubts, for the first time she fears.

On two occasions her fortune has failed her, on two occasions shehas found herself discovered and betrayed; and on these twooccasions it was to one fatal genius, sent doubtlessly by theLord to combat her, that she has succumbed. D'Artagnan hasconquered her - her, that invincible power of evil.

He has deceived her in her love, humbled her in her pride,thwarted her in her ambition; and now he ruins her fortune,deprives her of liberty, and even threatens her life. Stillmore, he has lifted the corner of her mask - that shield withwhich she covered herself and which rendered her so strong.

D'Artagnan has turned aside from Buckingham, whom she hates asshe hates everyone she has loved, the tempest with whichRichelieu threatened him in the person of the queen. D'Artagnanhad passed himself upon her as De Wardes, for whom she hadconceived one of those tigerlike fancies common to women of hercharacter. D'Artagnan knows that terrible secret which she hassworn no one shall know without dying. In short, at the momentin which she has just obtained from Richelieu a carte blanche bythe means of which she is about to take vengeance on her enemy,this precious paper is torn from her hands, and it is D'Artagnanwho holds her prisoner and is about to send her to some filthyBotany Bay, some infamous Tyburn of the Indian Ocean.

All this she owes to D'Artagnan, without doubt. From whom cancome so many disgraces heaped upon her head, if not from him? Healone could have transmitted to Lord de Winter all thesefrightful secrets which he has discovered, one after another, bya train of fatalities. He knows her brother-in-law. He musthave written to him.

What hatred she distills! Motionless, with her burning and fixedglances, in her solitary apartment, how well the outbursts ofpassion which at times escape from the depths of her chest withher respiration, accompany the sound of the surf which rises,growls, roars, and breaks itself like an eternal and powerlessdespair against the rocks on which is built this dark and loftycastle! How many magnificent projects of vengeance she conceivesby the light of the flashes which her tempestuous passion castsover her mind against Mme. Bonacieux, against Buckingham, butabove all against D'Artagnan - projects lost in the distance ofthe future.

Yes; but in order to avenge herself she must be free. And to befree, a prisoner has to pierce a wall, detach bars, cut through afloor - all undertakings which a patient and strong man mayaccomplish, but before which the feverish irritations of a womanmust give way. Besides, to do all this, time is necessary - months, years; and she has ten or twelve days, as Lord de Winter,her fraternal and terrible jailer, has told her.

And yet, if she were a man she would attempt all this, andperhaps might succeed; why, then, did heaven make the mistake ofplacing that manlike soul in that frail and delicate body?

The first moments of her captivity were terrible; a fewconvulsions of rage which she could not suppress paid her debt offeminine weakness to nature. But by degrees she overcame theoutbursts of her mad passion; and nervous tremblings whichagitated her frame disappeared, and she remained folded withinherself like a fatigued serpent in repose.

"Go to, go to! I must have been mad to allow myself to becarried away so," says she, gazing into the glass, which reflectsback to her eyes the burning glance by which she appears tointerrogate herself. "No violence; violence is the proof ofweakness. In the first place, I have never succeeded by thatmeans. Perhaps if I employed my strength against women I mightperchance find them weaker than myself, and consequently conquerthem; but it is with men that I struggle, and I am but a woman tothem. Let me fight like a woman, then; my strength is in myweakness."

Then, as if to render an account to herself of the changes shecould place upon her countenance, so mobile and so expressive,she made it take all expressions from that of passionate anger,which convulsed her features, to that of the most sweet, mostaffectionate, and most seducing smile. Then her hair assumedsuccessively, under her skillful hands, all the undulations shethought might assist the charms of her face. At length shemurmured, satisfied with herself, "Come, nothing is lost; I amstill beautiful."

It was then nearly eight o'clock in the evening. Miladyperceived a bed; she calculated that the repose of a few hourswould not only refresh her head and her ideas, but still further,her complexion. A better idea, however, came into her mindbefore going to bed. She had heard something said about supper.She had already been an hour in this apartment; they could notlong delay bringing her a repast. The prisoner did not wish tolose time; and she resolved to make that very evening someattempts to ascertain the nature of the ground she had to workupon, by studying the characters of the men to whose guardianshipshe was committed.

A light appeared under the door; this light announced thereappearance of her jailers. Milady, who had arisen, threwherself quickly into the armchair, her head thrown back, herbeautiful hair unbound and disheveled, her bosom half barebeneath her crumpled lace, one hand on her heart, and the otherhanging down.

The bolts were drawn; the door groaned upon its hinges. Stepssounded in the chamber, and drew near.

"Place that table there," said a voice which the prisonerrecognized as that of Felton.

The order was executed.

"You will bring lights, and relieve the sentinel," continuedFelton.

And this double order which the young lieutenant gave to the sameindividuals proved to Milady that her servants were the same menas her guards; that is to say, soldiers.

Felton's orders were, for the rest, executed with a silentrapidity that gave a good idea of the way in which he maintaineddiscipline.

At length Felton, who had not yet looked at Milady, turned towardher.

"Ah, ah!" said he, "she is asleep; that's well. When she wakesshe can sup." And he made some steps toward the door.

"But, my lieutenant," said a soldier, less stoical than hischief, and who had approached Milady, "this woman is not asleep."

"What, not asleep!" said Felton; "what is she doing, then?"

"She has fainted. Her face is very pale, and I have listened invain; I do not hear her breathe."

"You are right," said Felton, after having looked at Milady fromthe spot on which he stood without moving a step toward her. "Goand tell Lord de Winter that his prisoner has fainted - for thisevent not having been foreseen, I don't know what to do."

The soldier went out to obey the orders of his officer. Feltonsat down upon an armchair which happened to be near the door, andwaited without speaking a word, without making a gesture. Miladypossessed that great art, so much studied by women, of lookingthrough her long eyelashes without appearing to open the lids.She perceived Felton, who sat with his back toward her. Shecontinued to look at him for nearly ten minutes, and in these tenminutes the immovable guardian never turned round once.

She then thought that Lord de Winter would come, and by hispresence give fresh strength to her jailer. Her first trial waslost; she acted like a woman who reckons up her resources. As aresult she raised her head, opened her eyes, and sighed deeply.

At this sigh Felton turned round.

"Ah, you are awake, madame," he said; "then I have nothing moreto do here. If you want anything you can ring."

"Oh, my God, my God! how I have suffered!" said Milady, in thatharmonious voice which, like that of the ancient enchantresses,charmed all whom she wished to destroy.

And she assumed, upon sitting up in the armchair, a still moregraceful and abandoned position than when she reclined.

Felton arose.

"You will be served, thus, madame, three times a day," said he."In the morning at nine o'clock, in the day at one o'clock, andin the evening at eight. If that does not suit you, you canpoint out what other hours you prefer, and in this respect yourwishes will be complied with."

"But am I to remain always alone in this vast and dismalchamber?" asked Milady.

"A woman of the neighbourhood has been sent for, who will betomorrow at the castle, and will return as often as you desireher presence."

"I thank you, sir," replied the prisoner, humbly.

Felton made a slight bow, and directed his steps toward the door.At the moment he was about to go out, Lord de Winter appeared inthe corridor, followed by the soldier who had been sent to informhim of the swoon of Milady. He held a vial of salts in his hand.

"Well, what is it - what is going on here?" said he, in a jeeringvoice, on seeing the prisoner sitting up and Felton about to goout. "Is this corpse come to life already? Felton, my lad, didyou not perceive that you were taken for a novice, and that thefirst act was being performed of a comedy of which we shalldoubtless have the pleasure of following out all thedevelopments?"

"I thought so, my lord," said Felton; "but as the prisoner is awoman, after all, I wish to pay her the attention that every manof gentle birth owes to a woman, if not on her account, at leaston my own."

Milady shuddered through her whole system. These words ofFelton's passed like ice through her veins.

"So," replied De Winter, laughing, "that beautiful hair soskillfully disheveled, that white skin, and that languishinglook, have not yet seduced you, you heart of stone?"

"No, my Lord," replied the impassive young man; "your Lordshipmay be assured that it requires more than the tricks and coquetryof a woman to corrupt me."

"In that case, my brave lieutenant, let us leave Milady to findout something else, and go to supper; but be easy! She has afruitful imagination, and the second act of the comedy will notdelay its steps after the first."

And at these words Lord de Winter passed his arm through that ofFelton, and led him out, laughing.

"Oh, I will be a match for you!" murmured Milady, between herteeth; "be assured of that, you poor spoiled monk, you poorconverted soldier, who has cut his uniform out of a monk'sfrock!"

"By the way," resumed De Winter, stopping at the threshold of thedoor, "you must not, Milady, let this check take away yourappetite. Taste that fowl and those fish. On my honor, they arenot poisoned. I have a very good cook, and he is not to be myheir; I have full and perfect confidence in him. Do as I do.Adieu, dear sister, till your next swoon!"

This was all that Milady could endure. Her hands clutched herarmchair; she ground her teeth inwardly; her eyes followed themotion of the door as it closed behind Lord de Winter and Felton,and the moment she was alone a fresh fit of despair seized her.She cast her eyes upon the table, saw the glittering of a knife,rushed toward it and clutched it; but her disappointment wascruel. The blade was round, and of flexible silver.

A burst of laughter resounded from the other side of the ill-closed door, and the door reopened.

"Ha, ha!" cried Lord de Winter; "ha, ha! Don't you see, my braveFelton; don't you see what I told you? That knife was for you,my lad; she would have killed you. Observe, this is one of herpeculiarities, to get rid thus, after one fashion or another, ofall the people who bother her. If I had listened to you, theknife would have been pointed and of steel. Then no more ofFelton; she would have cut your throat, and after that everybodyelse's. See, John, see how well she knows how to handle aknife."

In fact, Milady still held the harmless weapon in her clenchedhand; but these last words, this supreme insult, relaxed herhands, her strength, and even her will. The knife fell to theground.

"You were right, my Lord," said Felton, with a tone of profounddisgust which sounded to the very bottom of the heart of Milady,"you were right, my Lord, and I was wrong."

And both again left the room.

But this time Milady lent a more attentive ear than the first,and she heard their steps die away in the distance of thecorridor.

"I am lost," murmured she; "I am lost! I am in the power of menupon whom I can have no more influence than upon statues ofbronze or granite; they know me by heart, and are steeled againstall my weapons. It is, however, impossible that this should endas they have decreed!"

In fact, as this last reflection indicated - this instinctivereturn to hope - sentiments of weakness or fear did not dwell longin her ardent spirit. Milady sat down to table, ate from severaldishes, drank a little Spanish wine, and felt all her resolutionreturn.

Before she went to bed she had pondered, analyzed, turned on allsides, examined on all points, the words, the steps, thegestures, the signs, and even the silence of her interlocutors;and of this profound, skillful, and anxious study the result wasthat Felton, everything considered, appeared the more vulnerableof her two persecutors.

One expression above all recurred to the mind of the prisoner:"If I had listened to you," Lord de Winter had said to Felton.

Felton, then, had spoken in her favor, since Lord de Winter hadnot been willing to listen to him.

"Weak or strong," repeated Milady, "that man has, then, a sparkof pity in his soul; of that spark I will make a flame that shalldevour him. As to the other, he knows me, he fears me, and knowswhat he has to expect of me if ever I escape from his hands. Itis useless, then, to attempt anything with him. But Felton - that's another thing. He is a young, ingenious, pure man whoseems virtuous; him there are means of destroying."

And Milady went to bed and fell asleep with a smile upon herlips. Anyone who had seen her sleeping might have said she was ayoung girl dreaming of the crown of flowers she was to wear onher brow at the next festival.