“That will do,” said Milady; “go into your own room, and tomorrow endeavor again to get me an answer to the letter I gave you.”
“For M. de Wardes?” said Kitty.
“To be sure; for M. de Wardes.”
“Now, there is one,” said Kitty, “who appears to me quite a different sort of a man from that poor M. d’Artagnan.”
“Go to bed, mademoiselle,” said Milady; “I don’t like comments.”
D’Artagnan heard the door close; then the noise of two bolts by which Milady fastened herself in. On her side, but as softly as possible, Kitty turned the key of the lock, and then d’Artagnan opened the closet door.
“Oh, good Lord!” said Kitty, in a low voice, “what is the matter with you? How pale you are!”
“The abominable creature,” murmured d’Artagnan.
“Silence, silence, begone!” said Kitty. “There is nothing but a wainscot between my chamber and Milady’s; every word that is uttered in one can be heard in the other.”
“That’s exactly the reason I won’t go,” said d’Artagnan.
“What!” said Kitty, blushing.
“Or, at least, I will go—later.”
He drew Kitty to him. She had the less motive to resist, resistance would make so much noise. Therefore Kitty surrendered.
It was a movement of vengeance upon Milady. D’Artagnan believed it right to say that vengeance is the pleasure of the gods. With a little more