A terrible idea, however, rushed into her mind.  She thought that Lord de Winter would perhaps send Felton himself to get the order signed by the Duke of Buckingham.  In that case Felton would escape her—­for in order to secure success, the magic of a continuous seduction was necessary.  Nevertheless, as we have said, one circumstance reassured her.  Felton had not spoken.

As she would not appear to be agitated by the threats of Lord de Winter, she placed herself at the table and ate.

Then, as she had done the evening before, she fell on her knees and repeated her prayers aloud.  As on the evening before, the soldier stopped his march to listen to her.

Soon after she heard lighter steps than those of the sentinel, which came from the end of the corridor and stopped before her door.

“It is he,” said she.  And she began the same religious chant which had so strongly excited Felton the evening before.

But although her voice—­sweet, full, and sonorous—­vibrated as harmoniously and as affectingly as ever, the door remained shut.  It appeared however to Milady that in one of the furtive glances she darted from time to time at the grating of the door she thought she saw the ardent eyes of the young man through the narrow opening.  But whether this was reality or vision, he had this time sufficient self-command not to enter.

However, a few instants after she had finished her religious song, Milady thought she heard a profound sigh.  Then the same steps she had heard approach slowly withdrew, as if with regret.

55 Captivity:  The fourth day

The next day, when Felton entered Milady’s apartment he found her standing, mounted upon a chair, holding in her hands a cord made by means of torn cambric handkerchiefs, twisted into a kind of rope one with another, and tied at the ends.  At the noise Felton made in entering, Milady leaped lightly to the ground, and tried to conceal behind her the improvised cord she held in her hand.

The young man was more pale than usual, and his eyes, reddened by want of sleep, denoted that he had passed a feverish night.  Nevertheless, his brow was armed with a severity more austere than ever.

He advanced slowly toward Milady, who had seated herself, and taking an end of the murderous rope which by neglect, or perhaps by design, she allowed to be seen, “What is this, madame?” he asked coldly.

“That?  Nothing,” said Milady, smiling with that painful expression which she knew so well how to give to her smile.  “Ennui is the mortal enemy of prisoners; I had ennui, and I amused myself with twisting that rope.”

Felton turned his eyes toward the part of the wall of the apartment before which he had found Milady standing in the armchair in which she was now seated, and over her head he perceived a gilt-headed screw, fixed in the wall for the purpose of hanging up clothes or weapons.