“You would not, then, prefer a method,” resumed D’Artagnan, “which would equally avenge you while rendering the combat useless?”
Milady looked at her lover in silence. The pale light of the first rays of day gave to her clear eyes a strangely frightful expression.
“Really,” said she, “I believe you now begin to hesitate.”
“No, I do not hesitate; but I really pity this poor Comte de Wardes, since you have ceased to love him. I think that a man must be so severely punished by the loss of your love that he stands in need of no other chastisement.”
“Who told you that I loved him?” asked Milady, sharply.
“At least, I am now at liberty to believe, without too much fatuity, that you love another,” said the young man, in a caressing tone, “and I repeat that I am really interested for the count.”
“You?” asked Milady.
“Yes, I.”
“And why you?”
“Because I alone know—”