And he did tell her so much, and so well, that the poor girl, who asked nothing better than to believe him, did believe him. Nevertheless, to D’Artagnan’s great astonishment, the pretty Kitty defended herself resolutely. Time passes quickly when it is passed in attacks and defenses. Midnight sounded, and almost at the same time the bell was rung in Milady’s chamber. “Good God,” cried Kitty, “there is my mistress calling me! Go; go directly!” D’Artagnan rose, took his hat, as if it had been his intention to obey, then, opening quickly the door of a large closet instead of that leading to the staircase, he buried himself amid the robes and dressing gowns of Milady. “What are you doing?” cried Kitty. D’Artagnan, who had secured the key, shut himself up in the closet without reply. “Well,” cried Milady, in a sharp voice. “Are you asleep, that you don’t answer when I ring?” And D’Artagnan heard the door of communication opened violently. “Here am I, Milady, here am I!” cried Kitty, springing forward to meet her mistress. Both went into the bedroom, and as the door of communication remained open, D’Artagnan could hear Milady for some time scolding her maid. She was at length appeased, and the conversation turned upon him while Kitty was assisting her mistress. “Well,” said Milady, “I have not seen our Gascon this evening.” “What, Milady! has he not come?” said Kitty. “Can he be inconstant before being happy?” “Oh, no; he must have been prevented by Monsieur de Tréville or Monsieur Dessessart. I understand my game, Kitty; I have this one safe.” “What will you do with him, madame?” “What will I do with him? Be easy, Kitty, there is something between that man and me that he is quite ignorant of: he nearly made me lose my credit with his Eminence. Oh, I will be revenged!” “I believed that Madame loved him.” “I love him? I detest him! An idiot, who held the life of Lord de Winter in his hands and did not kill him, by which I missed three hundred thousand livres’ income.” “That’s true,” said Kitty; “your son was the only heir of his uncle, and until his majority you would have had the enjoyment of his fortune.” D’Artagnan shuddered to the marrow at hearing this suave creature reproach him, with that sharp voice which she took such pains to conceal in conversation, for not having killed a man whom he had seen load her with kindnesses. “For all this,” continued Milady, “I should long ago have revenged myself on him if, and I don’t know why, the cardinal had not requested me to conciliate him.” “Oh, yes; but Madame has not conciliated that little woman he was so fond of.” “What, the mercer’s wife of the Rue des Fossoyeurs? Has he not already forgotten she ever existed? Fine vengeance that, on my faith!” A cold sweat broke from D’Artagnan’s brow. Why, this woman was a monster! He resumed his listening, but unfortunately the toilet was finished.