“You hear him!” cried Milady, with vehemence, so that the baron might believe she was addressing heaven, and that Felton might understand she was addressing him.

Felton lowered his head and reflected.

The baron took the young officer by the arm, and turned his head over his shoulder, so as not to lose sight of Milady till he was gone out.

“Well,” said the prisoner, when the door was shut, “I am not so far advanced as I believed.  De Winter has changed his usual stupidity into a strange prudence.  It is the desire of vengeance, and how desire molds a man!  As to Felton, he hesitates.  Ah, he is not a man like that cursed d’Artagnan.  A Puritan only adores virgins, and he adores them by clasping his hands.  A Musketeer loves women, and he loves them by clasping his arms round them.”

Milady waited, then, with much impatience, for she feared the day would pass away without her seeing Felton again.  At last, in an hour after the scene we have just described, she heard someone speaking in a low voice at the door.  Presently the door opened, and she perceived Felton.

The young man advanced rapidly into the chamber, leaving the door open behind him, and making a sign to Milady to be silent; his face was much agitated.

“What do you want with me?” said she.

“Listen,” replied Felton, in a low voice.  “I have just sent away the sentinel that I might remain here without anybody knowing it, in order to speak to you without being overheard.  The baron has just related a frightful story to me.”

Milady assumed her smile of a resigned victim, and shook her head.

“Either you are a demon,” continued Felton, “or the baron—­my benefactor, my father—­is a monster.  I have known you four days; I have loved him four years.  I therefore may hesitate between you.  Be not alarmed at what I say; I want to be convinced.  Tonight, after twelve, I will come and see you, and you shall convince me.”

“No, Felton, no, my brother,” said she; “the sacrifice is too great, and I feel what it must cost you.  No, I am lost; do not be lost with me.  My death will be much more eloquent than my life, and the silence of the corpse will convince you much better than the words of the prisoner.”

“Be silent, madame,” cried Felton, “and do not speak to me thus; I came to entreat you to promise me upon your honor, to swear to me by what you hold most sacred, that you will make no attempt upon your life.”

“I will not promise,” said Milady, “for no one has more respect for a promise or an oath than I have; and if I make a promise I must keep it.”

“Well,” said Felton, “only promise till you have seen me again.  If, when you have seen me again, you still persist—­well, then you shall be free, and I myself will give you the weapon you desire.”

“Well,” said Milady, “for you I will wait.”

“Swear.”

“I swear it, by our God.  Are you satisfied?”