We cannot say how long the night seemed to Milady, but d’Artagnan believed it to be hardly two hours before the daylight peeped through the window blinds, and invaded the chamber with its paleness. Seeing d’Artagnan about to leave her, Milady recalled his promise to avenge her on the Comte de Wardes.
“I am quite ready,” said d’Artagnan; “but in the first place I should like to be certain of one thing.”
“And what is that?” asked Milady.
“That is, whether you really love me?”
“I have given you proof of that, it seems to me.”
“And I am yours, body and soul!”
“Thanks, my brave lover; but as you are satisfied of my love, you must, in your turn, satisfy me of yours. Is it not so?”
“Certainly; but if you love me as much as you say,” replied d’Artagnan, “do you not entertain a little fear on my account?”
“What have I to fear?”
“Why, that I may be dangerously wounded—killed even.”
“Impossible!” cried Milady, “you are such a valiant man, and such an expert swordsman.”
“You would not, then, prefer a method,” resumed d’Artagnan, “which would equally avenge you while rendering the combat useless?”
Milady looked at her lover in silence. The pale light of the first rays of day gave to her clear eyes a strangely frightful expression.
“Really,” said she, “I believe you now begin to hesitate.”