In spite of the warnings of his conscience and the wise counsels of Athos, D’Artagnan hour by hour grew more and more deeply in love with milady. So the venturesome Gascon paid court to her every day, and he was convinced that sooner or later she could not fail to respond. One day when he arrived with his head in the air and as light at heart as a man who is expecting a shower of gold, he found the maid at the gateway of the h?tel. But this time the pretty Kitty was not satisfied with merely touching him as he passed; she took him gently by the hand.
“Good!” thought D’Artagnan; “she is charged with some message to me from her mistress. She is about to appoint a meeting which she probably has not the courage to speak of.” And he looked down at the pretty girl with the most triumphant air imaginable.
“I should like to speak a few words with you, Chevalier,” stammered the maid.
“Speak, my dear, speak,” said D’Artagnan; “I am all attention.”
“Here? That’s impossible. What I have to say is too long, and, still more, too secret.”
“Well, what is to be done?”
“If you will follow me?” said Kitty timidly.
“Wherever you please.”
“Come, then.”
And Kitty, who had not let go D’Artagnan’s hand, led him up a little dark, winding staircase, and, after ascending about fifteen steps, opened a door.
“Come in here, Chevalier,” said she; “here we shall be alone, and can talk.”
“And whose chamber is this, my pretty friend?”
“It is mine, Chevalier. It communicates with my mistress’s by that door. But you need not fear; she will not hear what we say; she never goes to bed before midnight.”
D’Artagnan glanced around him. The little apartment was charmingly tasteful and neat. But in spite of himself his eyes were directed to the door which Kitty said led to milady’s chamber.
Kitty guessed what was passing in the young man’s mind, and sighed.
“You love my mistress, then, very dearly, Chevalier?” said she.
“Oh, more than I can say, Kitty! I am madly in love with her!” Kitty sighed again.
“Alas, sir,” said she, “that is a great pity.”
“What the devil do you see so pitiable in it?” said D’Artagnan.
“Because, sir,” replied Kitty, “my mistress does not love you at all.”
“Hah!” said D’Artagnan; “can she have charged you to tell me so?”
“Oh, no, sir. Out of the regard I have for you I have taken on myself to tell you so.”
“I am much obliged, my dear Kitty, but for the intention only— for the information, you must agree, is not very pleasant.”
“That is to say, you don’t believe what I have told you, do you?”
“We always have some difficulty in believing such things, if only from self-love.”
“Then you don’t believe me?”
“Why, I confess that unless you give me some proof of what you advance—”
“What do you say to this?”
And Kitty drew a little note from her bosom.
“For me?” said D’Artagnan, snatching the letter from her.
“No; for another.”
“For another?”
“Yes.”
“His name; his name!” cried D’Artagnan.
“Read the address.”
“The Comte de Wardes.”
The remembrance of the scene at St. Germain presented itself to the mind of the presumptuous Gascon. As quick as thought he tore open the letter, in spite of the cry which Kitty uttered on seeing what he was going to do, or rather what he was doing.
“Oh, good Lord! Chevalier,” said she, “what are you doing?”
“I?” said D’Artagnan; “nothing.” And he read,
“You have not answered my first note. Are you indisposed, or have you forgot the glances you gave me at Madame de Guise’s ball? You have an opportunity now, Count; do not allow it to escape.”
D’Artagnan became very pale.
“Poor dear Monsieur D’Artagnan!” said Kitty, in a voice full of compassion, and pressing the young man’s hand again.
“You pity me, my kind little creature?” said D’Artagnan.
“That I do, and with all my heart, for I know what it is to be in love.”
“You know what it is to be in love?” said D’Artagnan, looking at her for the first time with some attention.
“Alas, yes.”
“Well, then, instead of pitying me you would do much better to assist me in wreaking my revenge on your mistress.”
“And what sort of revenge would you take?”
“I would triumph over her, and supplant my rival.”
“I will never help you in that, Chevalier,” said Kitty warmly.
“Why not?”
“For two reasons.”
“What are they?”
“The first is, that my mistress will never love you. The second reason, Chevalier is, that in love, every one for herself!”
Then only D’Artagnan remembered Kitty’s languishing glances and stifled sigh; how she constantly met him in the antechamber, in the corridor, or on the stairs; how she touched him with her hand every time she met him. But absorbed by his desire to please the great lady, he had disdained the maid. He who hunts the eagle heeds not the sparrow.
But this time our Gascon saw at a glance all the advantage that he might derive from the love which Kitty had just confessed so na?vely, or so boldly—the interception of letters addressed to the Comte de Wardes, bits of secret information, entrance at all hours into Kitty’s chamber, which was near her mistress’s. The perfidious fellow, as may be seen, was already sacrificing in idea the poor girl to obtain milady willingly or by force.
“Well, my dear Kitty,” said he to the young girl, “do you want me to give you a proof of that love of which you doubt?”
“What love?” asked the girl.
“Of that which I am ready to feel for you.”
“And what proof is that?”
“Do you want me to spend with you this evening the time I generally spend with your mistress?”
“Oh yes!” said Kitty, clapping her hands, “indeed I do.”
“Well, then, my dear girl,” said D’Artagnan, establishing himself in an armchair, “come here and let me tell you that you are the prettiest maid I ever saw.”
And he told her so much, and so well, that the poor girl, who asked nothing better than to believe him, believed him. Nevertheless, to D’Artagnan’s great astonishment, the pretty Kitty defended herself with considerable resolution.
Time passes very rapidly in attacks and repulses.
Twelve o’clock struck, and almost at the same time the bell was rung in milady’s chamber.
