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- Александр Дюма
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- Стр. 491/849
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Pale
and
trembling
,
Milady
repulsed
d'Artagnan
's
attempted
embrace
by
a
violent
blow
on
the
chest
,
as
she
sprang
out
of
bed
.
It
was
almost
broad
daylight
.
D'Artagnan
detained
her
by
her
night
dress
of
fine
India
linen
,
to
implore
her
pardon
;
but
she
,
with
a
strong
movement
,
tried
to
escape
.
Then
the
cambric
was
torn
from
her
beautiful
shoulders
;
and
on
one
of
those
lovely
shoulders
,
round
and
white
,
d'Artagnan
recognized
,
with
inexpressible
astonishment
,
the
FLEUR-DE-LIS
--
that
indelible
mark
which
the
hand
of
the
infamous
executioner
had
imprinted
.
"
Great
God
!
"
cried
d'Artagnan
,
loosing
his
hold
of
her
dress
,
and
remaining
mute
,
motionless
,
and
frozen
.
But
Milady
felt
herself
denounced
even
by
his
terror
.
He
had
doubtless
seen
all
.
The
young
man
now
knew
her
secret
,
her
terrible
secret
--
the
secret
she
concealed
even
from
her
maid
with
such
care
,
the
secret
of
which
all
the
world
was
ignorant
,
except
himself
.
She
turned
upon
him
,
no
longer
like
a
furious
woman
,
but
like
a
wounded
panther
.
"
Ah
,
wretch
!
"
cried
she
,
"
you
have
basely
betrayed
me
,
and
still
more
,
you
have
my
secret
!
You
shall
die
.
"
And
she
flew
to
a
little
inlaid
casket
which
stood
upon
the
dressing
table
,
opened
it
with
a
feverish
and
trembling
band
,
drew
from
it
a
small
poniard
,
with
a
golden
haft
and
a
sharp
thin
blade
,
and
then
threw
herself
with
a
bound
upon
d'Artagnan
.
Although
the
young
man
was
brave
,
as
we
know
,
he
was
terrified
at
that
wild
countenance
,
those
terribly
dilated
pupils
,
those
pale
cheeks
,
and
those
bleeding
lips
.
He
recoiled
to
the
other
side
of
the
room
as
he
would
have
done
from
a
serpent
which
was
crawling
toward
him
,
and
his
sword
coming
in
contact
with
his
nervous
hand
,
he
drew
it
almost
unconsciously
from
the
scabbard
.
But
without
taking
any
heed
of
the
sword
,
Milady
endeavored
to
get
near
enough
to
him
to
stab
him
,
and
did
not
stop
till
she
felt
the
sharp
point
at
her
throat
.
