“Ah, you are awake, madame,” he said; “then I have nothing more to do here. If you want anything you can ring.”
“Oh, my God, my God! how I have suffered!” said Milady, in that harmonious 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 more graceful 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, and in the evening at eight. If that does not suit you, you can point out what other hours you prefer, and in this respect your wishes will be complied with.”
“But am I to remain always alone in this vast and dismal chamber?” asked Milady.
“A woman of the neighbourhood has been sent for, who will be tomorrow at the castle, and will return as often as you desire her 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 in the corridor, followed by the soldier who had been sent to inform him 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 jeering voice, on seeing the prisoner sitting up and Felton about to go out. “Is this corpse come to life already? Felton, my lad, did you not perceive that you were taken for a novice, and that the first act was being performed of a comedy of which we shall doubtless have the pleasure of following out all the developments?”