“Then you love me?” said she. “Have I any need to tell you so? Have you not perceived it?” “It may be; but you know the more hearts are worth the capture, the more difficult they are to be won.” “Oh, difficulties do not affright me,” said D’Artagnan. “I shrink before nothing but impossibilities.” “Nothing is impossible,” replied Milady, “to true love.” “Nothing, madame?” “Nothing,” replied Milady. “The devil!” thought D’Artagnan. “The note is changed. Is she going to fall in love with me, by chance, this fair inconstant; and will she be disposed to give me myself another sapphire like that which she gave me for De Wardes?” D’Artagnan rapidly drew his seat nearer to Milady’s. “Well, now,” she said, “let us see what you would do to prove this love of which you speak.” “All that could be required of me. Order; I am ready.” “For everything?” “For everything,” cried D’Artagnan, who knew beforehand that he had not much to risk in engaging himself thus. “Well, now let us talk a little seriously,” said Milady, in her turn drawing her armchair nearer to D’Artagnan’s chair. “I am all attention, madame,” said he. Milady remained thoughtful and undecided for a moment; then, as if appearing to have formed a resolution, she said, “I have an enemy.” “You, madame!” said D’Artagnan, affecting surprise; “is that possible, my God?—good and beautiful as you are!” “A mortal enemy.” “Indeed!” “An enemy who has insulted me so cruelly that between him and me it is war to the death. May I reckon on you as an auxiliary?” D’Artagnan at once perceived the ground which the vindictive creature wished to reach. “You may, madame,” said he, with emphasis. “My arm and my life belong to you, like my love.” “Then,” said Milady, “since you are as generous as you are loving—” She stopped. “Well?” demanded D’Artagnan. “Well,” replied Milady, after a moment of silence, “from the present time, cease to talk of impossibilities.” “Do not overwhelm me with happiness,” cried D’Artagnan, throwing himself on his knees, and covering with kisses the hands abandoned to him. “Avenge me of that infamous De Wardes,” said Milady, between her teeth, “and I shall soon know how to get rid of you—you double idiot, you animated sword blade!” “Fall voluntarily into my arms, hypocritical and dangerous woman,” said D’Artagnan, likewise to himself, “after having abused me with such effrontery, and afterward I will laugh at you with him whom you wish me to kill.” D’Artagnan lifted up his head. “I am ready,” said he. “You have understood me, then, dear Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said Milady. “I could interpret one of your looks.” “Then you would employ for me your arm which has already acquired so much renown?” “Instantly!” “But on my part,” said Milady, “how should I repay such a service? I know these lovers. They are men who do nothing for nothing.” “You know the only reply that I desire,” said D’Artagnan, “the only one worthy of you and of me!” And he drew nearer to her.