“Oh, my God, my God! you see my strength fails me; you see plainly I cannot walk. Flee alone!”
“Flee alone, and leave you here? No, no, never!” cried Milady.
All at once she paused, a livid flash darted from her eyes; she ran to the table, emptied into Mme. Bonacieux’s glass the contents of a ring which she opened with singular quickness. It was a grain of a reddish color, which dissolved immediately.
Then, taking the glass with a firm hand, she said, “Drink. This wine will give you strength, drink!” And she put the glass to the lips of the young woman, who drank mechanically.
“This is not the way that I wished to avenge myself,” said Milady, replacing the glass upon the table, with an infernal smile, “but, my faith! we do what we can!” And she rushed out of the room.
Mme. Bonacieux saw her go without being able to follow her; she was like people who dream they are pursued, and who in vain try to walk.
A few moments passed; a great noise was heard at the gate. Every instant Mme. Bonacieux expected to see Milady, but she did not return. Several times, with terror, no doubt, the cold sweat burst from her burning brow.
At length she heard the grating of the hinges of the opening gates; the noise of boots and spurs resounded on the stairs. There was a great murmur of voices which continued to draw near, amid which she seemed to hear her own name pronounced.
All at once she uttered a loud cry of joy, and darted toward the door; she had recognized the voice of D’Artagnan.
“D’Artagnan! D’Artagnan!” cried she, “is it you? This way! this way!”