of poor Felton; I pardon you for the attempts upon my own person. Die in peace!”
“And I,” said M. d’Artagnan. “Pardon me, Madame, for having by a trick unworthy of a gentleman provoked your anger; and I, in exchange, pardon you the murder of my poor love and your cruel vengeance against me. I pardon you, and I weep for you. Die in peace!”
“I am lost!” murmured Milady in English. “I must die!”
Then she arose of herself, and cast around her one of those piercing looks which seemed to dart from an eye of flame.
She saw nothing; she listened, and she heard nothing.
“Where am I to die?” said she.
“On the other bank,” replied the executioner.
Then he placed her in the boat, and as he was going to set foot in it himself, Athos handed him a sum of silver.
“Here,” said he, “is the price of the execution, that it may be plain we act as judges.”
“That is correct,” said the executioner; “and now in her turn, let this woman see that I am not fulfilling my trade, but my debt.”
And he threw the money into the river.
The boat moved off toward the left-hand shore of the Lys, bearing the guilty woman and the executioner; all the others remained on the right-hand bank, where they fell on their knees.
The boat glided along the ferry rope under the shadow of a pale cloud which hung over the water at that moment.