“Great God!” exclaimed Felton, on seeing the knife glitter in her hand.

At that moment a burst of ironical laughter resounded through the corridor.  The baron, attracted by the noise, in his chamber gown, his sword under his arm, stood in the doorway.

“Ah,” said he, “here we are, at the last act of the tragedy.  You see, Felton, the drama has gone through all the phases I named; but be easy, no blood will flow.”

Milady perceived that all was lost unless she gave Felton an immediate and terrible proof of her courage.

“You are mistaken, my Lord, blood will flow; and may that blood fall back on those who cause it to flow!”

Felton uttered a cry, and rushed toward her.  He was too late; Milady had stabbed herself.

But the knife had fortunately, we ought to say skillfully, come in contact with the steel busk, which at that period, like a cuirass, defended the chests of women.  It had glided down it, tearing the robe, and had penetrated slantingly between the flesh and the ribs.  Milady’s robe was not the less stained with blood in a second.

Milady fell down, and seemed to be in a swoon.

Felton snatched away the knife.

“See, my Lord,” said he, in a deep, gloomy tone, “here is a woman who was under my guard, and who has killed herself!”

“Be at ease, Felton,” said Lord de Winter.  “She is not dead; demons do not die so easily.  Be tranquil, and go wait for me in my chamber.”

“But, my Lord—­”

“Go, sir, I command you!”

At this injunction from his superior, Felton obeyed; but in going out, he put the knife into his bosom.

As to Lord de Winter, he contented himself with calling the woman who waited on Milady, and when she was come, he recommended the prisoner, who was still fainting, to her care, and left them alone.

Meanwhile, all things considered and notwithstanding his suspicions, as the wound might be serious, he immediately sent off a mounted man to find a physician.

58 Escape

As Lord de Winter had thought, Milady’s wound was not dangerous.  So soon as she was left alone with the woman whom the baron had summoned to her assistance she opened her eyes.

It was, however, necessary to affect weakness and pain—­not a very difficult task for so finished an actress as Milady.  Thus the poor woman was completely the dupe of the prisoner, whom, notwithstanding her hints, she persisted in watching all night.

But the presence of this woman did not prevent Milady from thinking.

There was no longer a doubt that Felton was convinced; Felton was hers.  If an angel appeared to that young man as an accuser of Milady, he would take him, in the mental disposition in which he now found himself, for a messenger sent by the devil.

Milady smiled at this thought, for Felton was now her only hope—­ her only means of safety.