Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the fifty-third 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 and wanted to share my passion with listeners like you.

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

Today we'll be continuing The Three Musketeers by Alexandra Dumas chapter 53 Captivity The second day, my lady dreamed that she at length had D'Artagnan in her power, that she was present at his execution, and it was the sight of his odious blood flowing beneath the axes of the headsman, which spread that charming smile upon her lips.

She slept as a prisoner, sleeps, rocked by his first hope.

In the morning, when they entered her Chamber, she was still in bed.

Felton remained in the corridor.

He brought with him the woman of whom he had spoken the evening before and who had just arrived.

This woman entered and, approaching my lady's bed, offered her services.

My lady was habitually pale.

Her complexion might therefore deceive a person who saw her for the first time.

I am in a fever, she said.

I have not slept a single instant during all this night long.

I suffer horribly.

Are you likely to be more humane to me than others were yesterday?

All I ask is permission to remain a bed.

Would you like to have a physician called, said the woman.

Hilton listened to this dialogue without speaking a word.

My lady reflected that the more people she had around her, the more she would have to work upon, and Lord de Winter would redouble his watch.

Besides, the physician might declare the ailment feigned, and my lady, after having lost the first trick, was not willing to lose the second.

Go and fetch a physician, said she.

What could be the good of that?

These gentlemen declared yesterday that my illness was a comedy.

It would be just the same today, no doubt, for since yesterday evening they have had plenty of time to send for a doctor.

Then, said Felton, who became impatient.

Say yourself, Madam, what treatment you wish followed?

How can I tell?

My God I know that I suffer, that's all.

Give me anything you like.

It is of little consequence.

Go and fetch Lord de Winter, said Felton, tired of these eternal complaints.

Oh, no, cried my lady.

No, sir.

Do not call him.

I conjure you.

I am well.

I want nothing.

Do not call him.

She gave so much venomous, such magnetic eloquence, to this exclamation, that Felton, in spite of himself, advanced some steps into the room.

He has come, thought my lady.

Meanwhile, Madam, if you really suffer, said Felton, a physician shall be sent for.

And if you deceive us, well, it will be the worse for you.

But at least we shall not have to reproach ourselves with anything.

My lady made no reply, but turning her beautiful head round upon her pillow, she burst into tears.

And uttered heartbreaking sobs.

Felton surveyed her for an instant with his usual impassiveness, and seeing that the crisis threatened to be prolonged, he went out.

The woman followed him, and Lord de Winter did not appear.

I fancy I begin to see my way, murmured my lady with a Savage joy, burying herself under the clothes to conceal from anybody who might be watching her this burst of inward satisfaction.

2 hours passed away now it is the time that the malady should be over, said she.

Let me rise and obtain some success this very day.

I have but ten days, and this evening two of them will be gone in the morning.

When they entered my lady's Chamber, they had brought her breakfast.

Now, she thought, they could not long delay coming to clear the table, and that Felton would then reappear.

My lady was not deceived.

Felton reappeared, and without observing whether my lady had or had not touched her repast, made a sign that the table should be carried out of the room.

It having been brought in ready spread, Felton remained behind.

He held a book in his hand.

My lady reclining in an armchair near the chimney, beautiful, pale, and resigned, looked like a Holy Virgin awaiting martyrdom.

Felton approached her and said, Lord de Winter, who is a Catholic like yourself, Madam, thinking that the deprivation of the rites and ceremonies of your Church might be painful to you, has consented that you should read every day the ordinary of your Mass.

And here is a book which contains the ritual at the manner in which Felt and laid the book upon the little table near which my lady was sitting.

At the tone in which he pronounced the two words Your Mass.

At the disdainful smile which he accompanied them, my lady raised her head and looked more attentively at the officer by that plain arrangement of the hair, by that costume of extreme simplicity, by the brow polishedlike marble, and is hard and impenetrable.

She recognized one of those gloomy Puritans she had so often met, not only in the court of King James, but in that of the King of France, where, in spite of the remembrance of the Saint Bartholomew, they sometimes came to seek refuge.

She then had one of those sudden inspirations which only people of genius receive in great crisis in supreme moments which are to decide their fortunes or their lives.

Those two words, your Mass, and a simple glance cast upon Felton revealed to let her all the importance of the reply she was about to make, but with that rapidity of intelligence which was peculiar to her.

This reply, ready arranged, presented itself to her lips.

I said she with an accent of disdain, in unison with that which she had remarked in the voice of the young officer, I, sir, my Math, Lord de Winter, the corrupted Catholic, knows very well that I am not of his religion, and this is a snare he wishes to lay for me.

And of what religion are you, then, Madam?

Asked Felton with an astonishment which, in spite of the Empire he held over himself, he could not entirely conceal.

I will tell it, cried my lady, with a feigned exultation, on the day when I shall have suffered sufficiently for my faith.

The look of Felton revealed to my lady the full extent of the space she had opened for herself by the single word.

The young officer, however, remained mute and motionless.

His look alone had spoken.

I am in the hands of my enemies, continued she, with that tone of enthusiasm which she knew was familiar to the Puritans.

Well, let my God save me, or let me perish for my God.

That is the reply I beg you to make to Lord the Winter.

As to this book, added she, pointing to the manual with her finger but without touching it, as if she might be contaminated by it.

You may carry it back and make use of it yourself, for doubtless you are doubly the accomplice of Lord de Winter.

The accomplice in his persecutions, the accomplice in his heresies.

Felton made no reply, took the book with the same appearance of repugnance which he had before manifested, and retired pensively.

Lord de Winter came toward 05:00 in the evening.

My lady had had time during the whole day to trace her plan of conduct.

She received him like a woman who had already recovered all her advantages.

It appears, said the Baron, seating himself in the armchair opposite that occupied by my lady, and stretching out his legs carelessly upon the hearth.

It appears we have made a little apostasy.

What do you mean, sir?

I mean to say that since we last met you have changed your religion.

You have not by chance married a Protestant for a third husband, have you?

Explain yourself, my Lord, replied the prisoner, with Majesty, for though I hear your words, I declare I do not understand them.

Then you have no religion at all.

I like that best, replied Lord de Winter, laughing.

Certainly that is most in accord with your own principles, replied my lady frigidly.

Oh, I confess it is all the same to me.

Oh, you need not avow this religious indifference, my Lord.

Your debaucheries and crimes would vouch for it.

What you talk of, debaucheries, Madame Mesalina, Lady Macbeth?

Either I understand you or you are very shameless.

You only speak thus because you are overheard, coolly, replied my lady.

And you wish to interest your jailers and your hangman against me.

My jailers and my hangman?

Heyday, Madam, you are taking a poetical tone, and the comedy of yesterday turns to a tragedy this evening.

As to the rest, in eight days you will be where you ought to be, and my task will be completed.

Infamous task impious, cried my lady, with the exultation of a victim who provokes his judge.

My word, said de winter rising.

I think the Hussey is going mad.

Come calm yourself, Madam Puritan, or I'll remove you to a dungeon.

It's my Spanish wine that has got into your head, is it not?

But never mind.

That sort of intoxication is not dangerous and will have no bad effects.

And Lord de Winter retired, swearing, which at that period was a very nightly habit.

Felton was indeed behind the door and had not lost one word of this scene.

My lady had guessed a right.

Yes, go, go, said she to her brother.

The effects are drawing near.

On the contrary, but you weak will not see them until it is too late to shun them.

Silence was reestablished.

2 hours passed away.

My lady's supper was brought in, and she was found deeply engaged in saying her prayers aloud, prayers which she had learned of an old servant of her second husband, the most austere Puritan.

She appeared to be in ecstasy and did not pay the least attention to what was going on around her.

Elton made a sign that she should not be disturbed, and when all was arranged, he went out quietly with the soldiers.

My lady knew she might be watched, so she continued her prayers to the end, and it appeared to her that the soldier who was on duty at the door did not March with the same step and seemed to listen for the moment she wished nothing better.

She arose, came to the table, ate but little, and drank only water an hour after her table was cleared.

But my lady remarked that this time Felton did not accompany the soldiers.

He feared them to see her too often.

She turned toward the wall to smile, for there was in this smile such an expression of triumph that this smile alone would have betrayed her.

She allowed there for half an hour to pass away, and as at that moment all was silenced in the old Castle, as nothing was heard but the eternal murmur of the waves, that immense breaking of the ocean.

With her pure, harmonious and powerful voice she began the first couplet of the Psalm, then in great favor with the Puritans.

Thou leavest thy servants, Lord, to see if they be strong, but soon thou DOST afford thy hand to lead them on.

These verses were not excellent very far from it, but as it is well known, the Puritans did not Pique themselves upon their poetry.

While singing, my lady listened.

The soldier on guard at her door stopped as if he had been changed into stone.

My lady was then able to judge to the effect she had produced.

Then she continued her singing with inexpressible fervor and feeling.

It appeared to her that the sound spread to a distance beneath the vaulted roof and carried with them a magic charm to soften the hearts of her jailers.

It, however, likewise appeared that the soldier on duty, a zealous Catholic, no doubt shook off the charm.

For through the door he called, Hold your tongue, Madam.

Your song is as dismal as de Profundis.

And if Besides the pleasure of being in Garrison here, we must hear such things as these, no mortal can hold out silence.

Then exclaimed another stern voice, which my lady recognized as that of Felton.

What are you meddling with, stupid?

Did anybody order you to prevent that woman from singing?

No.

You were told to guard her, to fire at her if she attempted to fly, guard her.

If she flies, kill her.

But don't exceed your orders.

An expression of unspeakable joy lightened the countenance of my lady.

But this expression was fleeting as the reflection of lightning.

Without appearing to have heard the dialogue of which she had not lost a word, she began again, giving to her voice all the charm, all the power, all the seduction the demon had bestowed upon it.

For all my tears, my cares, my exile and my chains, I have my youth, my prayers, and God who counts my pains.

Her voice of immense power and sublime expression gave to the rude, unpolished poetry of these Psalms a magic and an effect which the most exalted Puritans rarely found in the songs of their brethren in which they were forced to ornament with all the resources of their imagination.

Elton believed he heard the singing of the angel who consoled the three Hebrews in the furnace.

My lady continued, One day our doors will open with God come our desire, and if betrays that hope to death, we can aspire this verse, into which the terrible Enchantress through her whole soul, completed the trouble which had seized the heart of the young officer.

He opened the door quickly, and my lady saw him appear pale as usual, but with his eyes inflamed and almost wild.

Why do you sing thus and with such a voice?

Said he.

You pardon, sir, said my lady, with mildness.

I forgot that my songs are out of place in this Castle.

I have perhaps offended you and your Creed, but it was without wishing to do so, I swear.

Pardon me then, a fault which is perhaps great, but which certainly was involuntary.

My lady was so beautiful at this moment the religious ecstasy in which she appeared to be plunged gave such an expression to her countenance that Felton was so dazzled that he fancied he beheld the angel whom he had only just before heard.

Yes, yes, said he.

You disturb you agitate the people who live in the Castle.

The poor senseless young man was not aware of the incoherence of his words, while my lady was reading with her Lynx's eyes the very depths of his heart.

I'll be silent then, said My Lady, casting down her eyes with all the sweetness she could give to her voice with all the resignation she could impress upon her manner.

No, no, Madam, said Felton only, do not sing so loud, particularly at night and at these words Felton feeling that he could not long maintain his severity toward his prisoner rushed out of the room you have done right, Lieutenant, said the soldier such songs disturb the mind and yet we become accustomed to them.

Her voice is so beautiful.

Thank you for joining Byte At A Time books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics, all of the links for our show are in the show notes.

We are part of the Bike At A Time Books Productions network.

If you ever wondered what inspired your favorite classic novelist to write their stories, what was happening in their lives or the world at the time, check out Bite At a Time Books Behind the Story Tuesdays.

Wherever you listen to podcasts again.