Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the fifty-seventh chapter of The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas.

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Welcome to Bite at a Time Books, where we read you your favorite classics one Bite at a Time.

My name is Brie Carlyle and I love to read.

I wanted to share my passion with listeners like you.

All of the links for our show are in the show notes.

Today we will be continuing The Three Musketeers by Alexandra Dumas.

Chapter 57 means for a Classical tragedy.

After a moment of silence, employed by my lady and observing the young man who listened to her, my lady continued her recital.

It was nearly three days since I had eaten or drunk anything.

I suffered frightful, torments.

At times there passed before me clouds which pressed my brow, which veiled my eyes.

This was delirium.

When the evening came, I was so weak that every time I fainted, I thanked God, for I thought I was about to die.

In the midst of one of these swoons, I heard the door open.

Terror recalled me to myself.

He entered the apartment, followed by a man in a mask.

He was masked likewise, but I knew his step.

I knew his voice.

I knew him by that imposing bearing which h*** had bestowed upon this person for the curse of humanity.

Well, said he to me, have you made your mind up to take the oath I requested of you?

You have said Puritans, have but one word mine you have heard, and that is to pursue you on Earth.

To the tribunal of men in heaven, to the tribunal of God.

You persist.

Then I swear it before the God who hears me.

I will take the whole world as a witness of your crime, and that until I have found an Avenger.

You are a prostitute, said he in a voice of Thunder, and you shall undergo the punishment of prostitutes branded in the eyes of the world you invoke try to prove to that world that you are neither guilty nor mad.

Then, addressing the man who accompanied him executioner, said, he do your duty on his name.

His name, cried Felt, in his name.

Tell it me then.

In spite of my cries, in spite of my resistance, for I began to comprehend that there was a question of something worse than death.

The executioner seized me, threw me on the floor, fastened me with his bonds, and suffocated by sobs almost without sense invoking God who did not listen to me, I uttered all at once a frightful cry of pain and shame, a burning fire, a red hot iron.

The iron of the executioner was imprinted on my shoulder.

Felt and uttered a groan.

Here, said My Lady, rising with the Majesty of a Queen.

Here Felton behold the new martyrdom invented for a pure young girl, the victim of the brutality of a villain.

Learn to know the heart of men and henceforth make yourself less easily the instrument of their unjust vengeance.

My lady, with a rapid gesture, opened her robe, tore the Cambridge that covered her bosom and Read with feigned anger and simulated shame, showed the young man the ineffaceable impression which Dishonored that beautiful shoulder.

But, cried Felton, that is a Florida Lu which I see there and therein, insisted the infamy, replied My Lady, the brand of England.

It would be necessary to prove what tribunal had imposed on me, and I could have made a public appeal to all the tribunals of the Kingdom.

But the brand of France.

Oh, by that.

By that I was branded.

Indeed, this was too much for Felton.

Pale, motionless, overwhelmed by this frightful revelation, dazzled by the superhuman beauty of this woman who unveiled herself before him with an imodesty which appeared to him sublime.

He ended by falling on his knees before her, as the early Christians did before those pure and Holy martyrs whom the persecution of the Emperor's gave up in the circus to the sanctuary sensuality of the populace.

The brand disappeared.

The beauty alone remained.

Pardon, pardon, cried Felton.

Oh, pardon, my lady, read in his eyes.

Love, love, pardon for what?

Asked she.

Pardon me for having joined with your persecutors.

My lady held out her hand to him.

So beautiful, so young, cried Felton, covering that hand with his kisses.

My lady, let one of those looks fall upon him which made a slave of a King.

Felton was a Puritan.

He abandoned the hand of this woman to kiss her feet.

He no longer loved her.

He adored her.

When this crisis was passed, when my lady appeared to have resumed her self possession which she had never lost, when Felton had seen her recover with the veil of chastity those treasures of love which were only concealed from him to make him desire them the more ardently he said, Now I have only one thing to ask of you.

That is the name of your true executioner.

For to me there is but one.

The other was an instrument that was all.

What, brother?

Cried my lady, must I name him again?

Have you not yet divined who he is?

What?

Cried Felton.

He again.

He always he what?

The truly guilty.

The truly guilty, said my lady, is the Ravager of England, the persecutor of true believers, the base Ravager of the honor of so many women.

He who to satisfy a Caprice of his corrupt heart is about to make England shed so much blood.

Who protects the Protestants today and will betray them tomorrow?

Buckingham.

It is then, Buckingham, cried Felton, in a high state of excitement.

My lady concealed her face in her hands as if she could not endure the shame which this neighbor called to her.

The executioner of this angelic creature, cried Felton.

And thou hast not hurled thy Thunder at him, my God, and thou hast left him Noble, honored, powerful for the ruin of us all.

God abandons him or abandons himself, said my lady.

But he will draw upon his head the punishment reserved for the damned, said Felton with increasing exultation.

He Wills that human vengeance should precede celestial justice.

Men fear him and spare him, I, said Felton.

I do not fear him, nor will I spare him.

The soul of my lady was bathed in an infernal joy.

But how can Lord de Winter, my protector, my father?

Asked Felton, possibly be mixed up with all this?

Listen, Felton, resumed my lady.

For by the side of base and contemptible men there are often found great and generous natures.

I had an Afia's husband, a man whom I loved and who loved me.

A heart like yours, Felton.

A man like you.

I went to him and told him all he knew me.

That man did and did not doubt an instant.

He was a nobleman, a man equal to Buckingham in every respect.

He said nothing.

He only girded on his sword, wrapped himself in his cloak and went straight to Buckingham Palace.

Yes, yes, said Felton.

I understand how he would act, but with such men it is not the sword that should be employed.

It is the ponyard.

Buckingham had left England the day before, sent as ambassador to Spain to demand the hand of the Infanta for King Charles I, who was then only Prince of Wales.

My fiance husband returned.

Hear me, said he.

This man has gone and for the moment has Consequently escaped my vengeance.

But let us be United as we were to have been, and then leave it to Lord de Winter to maintain his own honor and that of his wife.

Lord de Winter, cried Felton.

Yes, said my lady.

Lord de Winter.

And now you can understand it all, can you not?

Buckingham remained nearly a year absent.

A week before his return, Lord de Winter died, leaving me his sole air.

Whence came the blow.

God who knows?

All knows without doubt.

But as for me, I accuse nobody.

Oh, what an abyss, what an abyss, cried Felton.

Lord de Winter died without revealing anything to his brother.

The terrible secret was to be concealed till it burst like a clap of Thunder over the head of the guilty.

Your protector has seen with pain this marriage of his elder brother with a portionless girl.

I was sensible that I could look for no support from a man disappointed in his hopes of an inheritance.

I went to France with a determination to remain there for the rest of my life.

But all my fortune is in England, communication being closed by the war.

I was in want of everything.

I was then obliged to come back again.

Six days ago I landed at Port's Mouth.

Well, said Felton.

Well, Buckingham heard by some means no doubt of my return.

He spoke with me to Lord de Winter, already prejudiced against me, and told him that his sisterinlaw was a prostitute, a branded woman.

The Noble and pure voice of my husband was no longer here to defend me.

Lord de Winter believed all that was told him was so much the more ease that it was his interest to believe it.

He caused me to be arrested, had me conducted hither, and placed me under your guard.

You know the rest.

The day after tomorrow he banishes me.

He transports me.

The day after tomorrow he exiles me among the infamous.

Oh, the train is well laid.

The plot is clever.

My honor will not survive it.

You see.

Then Felton, I can do nothing but die.

Felton, give me that knife and add these words as if all her strength was exhausted.

My lady sank weak and languishing into the arms of the young officer, who intoxicated with love, anger and voluptuous sensations hitherto unknown, received her with transport, pressed her against his heart, all trembling at the breath from that charming mouth, bewildered by the contact with that palpitating bosom.

No, no, said he.

No, you shall live honored and pure.

You shall live to triumph over your enemies.

My lady put him from her slowly with her hand while drawing him nearer with her look.

But Felton, in his turn embraced her more closely, imploring her like a divinity.

O death, death, said she, lowering her voice and her eyelids.

O death rather than shame.

Felton, my brother, my friend, I conjure you.

No, cried Felton.

No, you shall live and you shall be avenged.

Felton, I bring misfortune to all who surround me.

Felton abandoned me.

Felton, let me die.

Well, then, we will live and die together, cried he, pressing his lips to those of the prisoner.

Several strokes resounded on the door.

This time my lady really pushed him away from her.

Hark, said she, we have been overheard.

Someone is coming.

All is over.

We are lost.

No, said Felton.

It is only the Sentinel warning me that they are about to change the guard.

Then run to the door and open it yourself.

Felton obeyed.

This woman was now his whole thought, his whole soul.

He found himself face to face with the Sergeant commanding a watch patrol.

Well, what is the matter?

Asked the young Lieutenant.

You told me to open the door if I heard anyone cry out, said the soldier.

But you forgot to leave me the key.

I heard you cry out without understanding what you said.

I tried to open the door, but it was locked inside.

Then I called the Sergeant, and here I am, said the Sergeant.

Felton, quite bewildered, almost mad, stood speechless.

My lady plainly perceived that it was now her turn to take part in the scene.

She ran to the table and, seizing the knife which Felton had laid down, exclaimed, and by what right will you prevent me from dying?

Great God, exclaimed Felton, on seeing the knife glittering in her hand.

At that moment, a burst of ironical laughter resounded through the corridor.

The Baron, attracted by the noise in his Chamber gown, his sword under his arm, stood in the doorway.

Ah, said he, here we are at the last act of the tragedy.

You see, Felton, the drama has gone through all the phases I named but be easy no blood will flow My Lady perceived that all was lost unless she gave Felton an immediate and terrible proof of her courage you are mistaken, my Lord blood will flow and make that blood fall back on those who cause it to flow Felton uttered a cry and rushed toward her he was too late my lady had stabbed herself but the knife had fortunately, we ought to say skillfully come in contact with the steel busk which at that period like a curious defended the chests of women It had gilded down it tearing the robe and had penetrated slantingly between the flesh and the ribs my lady's robe was not the less stained with blood in a second, my lady fell down and seemed to be in a swoon Felton snatched away the knife.

See, my Lord, said he in a deep, gloomy tone Here is a woman who is under my guard and who has killed herself be at ease, Felton, said Lord De Winter, she is not dead demons do not die so easily be tranquil and go wait for me in my Chamber But, my Lord go, Sir, I command you at this injunction from his superior Felt and obeyed but in going out he put the knife into his bosom as to Lord De Winter, he contented himself with calling the woman who waited on my Lady And when she was come he recommended the prisoner who was still fainting to her care and left them alone Meanwhile, all things considered and notwithstanding his suspicions as the wound might be serious he immediately sent off a mounted man to find a physician.

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