By degrees, Milady became more communicative. She asked d’Artagnan if he had a mistress.
“Alas!” said d’Artagnan, with the most sentimental air he could assume, “can you be cruel enough to put such a question to me—to me, who, from the moment I saw you, have only breathed and sighed through you and for you?”
Milady smiled with a strange smile.
“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.”