“Well,” said Milady, in a trembling voice, “why do you not enter? Count, Count,” added she, “you know that I wait for you.” At this appeal D’Artagnan drew Kitty quietly away, and slipped into the chamber. If rage or sorrow ever torture the heart, it is when a lover receives under a name which is not his own protestations of love addressed to his happy rival. D’Artagnan was in a dolorous situation which he had not foreseen. Jealousy gnawed his heart; and he suffered almost as much as poor Kitty, who at that very moment was crying in the next chamber. “Yes, Count,” said Milady, in her softest voice, and pressing his hand in her own, “I am happy in the love which your looks and your words have expressed to me every time we have met. I also—I love you. Oh, tomorrow, tomorrow, I must have some pledge from you which will prove that you think of me; and that you may not forget me, take this!” and she slipped a ring from her finger onto D’Artagnan’s. D’Artagnan remembered having seen this ring on the finger of Milady; it was a magnificent sapphire, encircled with brilliants. The first movement of D’Artagnan was to return it, but Milady added, “No, no! Keep that ring for love of me. Besides, in accepting it,” she added, in a voice full of emotion, “you render me a much greater service than you imagine.” “This woman is full of mysteries,” murmured D’Artagnan to himself. At that instant he felt himself ready to reveal all. He even opened his mouth to tell Milady who he was, and with what a revengeful purpose he had come; but she added, “Poor angel, whom that monster of a Gascon barely failed to kill.” The monster was himself. “Oh,” continued Milady, “do your wounds still make you suffer?” “Yes, much,” said D’Artagnan, who did not well know how to answer. “Be tranquil,” murmured Milady; “I will avenge you—and cruelly!” “_Peste!_” said D’Artagnan to himself, “the moment for confidences has not yet come.” It took some time for D’Artagnan to resume this little dialogue; but then all the ideas of vengeance which he had brought with him had completely vanished. This woman exercised over him an unaccountable power; he hated and adored her at the same time. He would not have believed that two sentiments so opposite could dwell in the same heart, and by their union constitute a passion so strange, and as it were, diabolical. Presently it sounded one o’clock. It was necessary to separate. D’Artagnan at the moment of quitting Milady felt only the liveliest regret at the parting; and as they addressed each other in a reciprocally passionate adieu, another interview was arranged for the following week. Poor Kitty hoped to speak a few words to D’Artagnan when he passed through her chamber; but Milady herself reconducted him through the darkness, and only quit him at the staircase. The next morning D’Artagnan ran to find Athos. He was engaged in an adventure so singular that he wished for counsel. He therefore told him all.