Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the thirty-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 Byte at a time.

My name is Brie Carlyle and I love to read and wanted to share my passion with listeners like you.

If you want to follow us on social media or check out our website, all those links are down in the show notes.

Today we'll be continuing the Three Musketeers by Alexandra Dumas 37 my Lady's Secret D'Artagnan left the hotel instead of going up at once to Kitty's Chamber, as she endeavored to persuade him to do, and that for two reasons.

The first, because by this means he should escape reproaches, recriminations and prayers.

The second because he was not sorry to have an opportunity of reading his own thoughts and endeavoring, if possible, to fathom those of this woman.

What was most clear in the matter was that D'Artagnan loved My Lady like a madman and that she did not love him at all.

In an instant, D'Artagnan perceived that the best way in which he could act would be to go home and write My Lady a long letter in which he would confess to her that he and Awardas were up to the present moment, absolutely the same, and that Consequently he could not undertake, without committing suicide, to kill the Count de Mordes.

But he also was spurred on by a ferocious desire of vengeance.

He wished to subdue this woman in his own name, and as this vengeance appeared to him to have a certain sweetness in it, he could not make up his mind to renounce it.

He walked six or seven times around the Place Royale, turning every ten steps to look at the light in My Lady's apartment, which was to be seen through the blinds.

It was evident that this time the young woman was not in such haste to retire to her apartment as she had been the first.

At length the light disappeared.

With this light was extinguished, the last irresolution in the heart of D'Artagnan.

He recalled to his mind the details of the first night, and with a beating heart and a brain on fire, he reentered the hotel and flew towards Kitty's Chamber.

The poor girl, pale as death and trembling in all her limbs, wished to delay her lover.

But My Lady, with her ear on the watch, had heard the noise D'Artagnan had made, and, opening the door, said, Come in.

All this was of such incredible immodesty, of such monstrous EFF intrigue, that D'Artagnan could scarcely believe what he saw or what he heard.

He imagined himself to be drawn into one of those fantastic intrigues one meets in dreams.

He, however, darted not the last quickly toward My Lady yielded to that magnetic attraction which the lodestone exercises over iron.

As the door closed after them, Kitty rushed toward it.

Jealousy, Fury, offended pride, all the passions, in short, that dispute the heart of an outraged woman in love urged her to make a revelation.

But she reflected that she would be totally lost if she confessed having assisted in such a machination, and above all, that D'Artagnan would also be lost to her forever.

This last thought of love counseled her to make this last sacrifice.

D'artagnan, on his part, had gained the summit of all his wishes.

It was no longer a rival who was beloved.

It was himself who was apparently beloved.

A secret voice whispered to him at the bottom of his heart that he was but an instrument of vengeance, that he was only caressed till he had given death, but pride, but selflove but madness silenced this voice, instilled its murmurs.

And then our Gaskin with that large quantity of conceit which we know he possessed, compared himself with de mortis and asked himself why, after all, he should not be beloved for himself.

He was absorbed entirely by the sensations of the moment.

My lady was no longer for him.

That woman of fatal intentions, who had for a moment terrified him.

She was an ardent, passionate mistress, abandoning herself to love, which she also seemed to feel.

2 hours thus glided away when the transports of the two lovers were calmer.

My lady, who had not the same motives for forgetfulness that D'Artagnan had was the first to return to reality, and asked the young man if the means which were on the Morrow to bring on the encounter between him and a wartis were already arranged in his mind.

But D'Artagnan, whose ideas had taken quite another course, forgot himself like a fool and answered galliantly that it was too late to think about duels and sword thrusts.

This coldness toward the only interests that occupied her mind terrified my lady, whose questions became more pressing than D'Artagnan, who had never seriously thought of this impossible duel, endeavored to turn the conversation.

But he could not succeed.

My lady kept him within the limits she had traced beforehand.

With her irresistible spirit and her iron will.

D'artagnan fancied himself very cunning when advising my lady to renounce by pardoning dewartis the furious projects she had formed.

But at the first word the young woman started and exclaimed in a sharp, bantering tone, which sounded strangely in the darkness, Are you afraid, dear Monsieur D'Artagnan?

You cannot think so, dear love, replied D'Artagnan.

But now suppose this poor count to wardos were less guilty than you think him at all events, said my lady seriously, he has deceived me, and from the moment he deceived me he merited death.

He shall die then, since you condemn him, said D'Artagnan in so firm a tone that it appeared to my lady an undoubted proof of devotion.

This reassured her.

We cannot say how long the night seemed to my lady, but D'Artagnan believed it to be hardly 2 hours before the daylight peeped through the window blinds and invaded the Chamber with its paleness.

Seeing D'Artagnan about to leave her, My Lady recalled his promise to avenge her on the Count de Wardez.

I'm quite ready, said D'Artagnan, but in the first place I should like to be certain of one thing.

And what is that?

Asked my lady.

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 with 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 my lady.

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.

My lady looked at her lover in silence.

The pale light of the first rays of day gave her clear eyes a strangely frightful expression.

Really, said she, I believe you now begin to hesitate.

No, I do not hesitate.

But I really pity this poor Count de Wardes, since you have ceased to love him.

I think that a man must be so severely punished by the loss of your love that he stands in need of no other chastisement.

Who told you that I loved him?

Asked my lady sharply.

At least I am now at Liberty to believe, without too much gratuity, that you'd love another, said the young man in a caressing tone.

And I repeat that I'm really interested for the count.

You?

Asked my lady?

Yes, I.

And why you?

Because I alone know what?

That he is far from being, or rather having been so guilty toward you as he appears.

Indeed, said my lady in an anxious tone, explain yourself, for I really cannot tell what you mean.

And she looked at D'Artagnan, who embraced her tenderly with eyes which seemed to burn themselves away.

Yes, I am a man of honor, said D'Artagnan, determined to come to an end.

And since your love is mine and I am satisfied, I possess it.

For I do possess it.

Do I not?

Entirely.

Go on.

Well, I feel as if transformed.

A confession weighs on my mind.

A confession?

If I had the least doubt of your love, I would not make it.

But you love me, my beautiful mistress, do you not?

Without doubt.

Then if through excess of love I have rendered myself culpable towards you, you will pardon me.

Perhaps.

D'artagnan.

Tried with his sweetest smile to touch his lips to my ladies, but she evaded him.

This confession, said she, growing paler.

What is this confession you gave to Hordes?

A meeting on Thursday last in this very room, did you not?

No, no, it is not true, said my lady in a tone of voice so firm and with Countenance so unchanged that if D'Artagnan had not been in such perfect possession of the fact, he would have doubted.

Do not lie, my angel, said D'Artagnan, smiling.

That would be useless.

What do you mean?

Speak.

You kill me.

Be satisfied.

You are not guilty toward me, and I have already pardoned you.

What next?

What next door is cannot boast of anything.

How is that?

You told me yourself.

That ring.

That ring.

I have the Count de Ward as of Thursday, and the D'Artagnan of today are the same person.

The imprudent young man expected a surprise mixed with shame, a slight storm which would resolve itself into tears.

But he was strangely deceived, and his error was not of long duration.

Pale and trembling, my lady, repulsed D'Artagnan's attempted embrace by a violent blow on the chest as she sprang out of bed.

It was almost broad daylight.

D'artagnan detained her by her nightdress, a fine India linen to implore her pardon, but she, with a strong movement, tried to escape.

Then the Cambridge was torn from her beautiful shoulders, and on one of those lovely shoulders, round and white, D'Artagnan recognized with inexpressible astonishment the Florida Lou, that indelible Mark which the hand of the infamous executioner had imprinted.

Great God, cried D'Artagnan, losing his hold of her dress and remaining mute, motionless and frozen.

But my lady felt herself denounced even by his terror.

He had doubtless seen all the young man now knew her secret, her terrible secret, the secret she concealed even from her maid with such care, the secret of which all the world was ignorant except himself.

She turned upon him no longer like a furious woman, but like a wounded Panther.

Ah, wretch, cried she, you have barely betrayed me, and still more you have my secret.

You shall die.

And she flew to a little inlaid casket which stood upon the dressing table, opened it with a feverish and trembling hand, drew from it a small ponyard with a golden hat and a sharp, thin blade, and then threw herself with a bound upon D'Artagnan.

Although the young man was brave, as we know, he was terrified at that wild countenance, those terribly dilated pupils, those pale cheeks, and those bleeding lips.

He recoiled to the other side of the room, as he would have done from a serpent which was crawling toward him, and his sword coming in contact with his nervous hand.

He drew it almost unconsciously from the scabbard, but without taking any heed of the sword, my lady endeavored to get near enough to him to stab him, and did not stop till she felt the sharp point at her throat.

She then tried to seize the sword with her hands, but D'Artagnan kept it free from her grasp, and presenting the point sometimes at her eyes, sometimes at her breast, compelled her to glide behind the bedstead while he aimed at making his retreat by the door which led to Kitty's apartment.

My lady, during this time continued to strike at him with horrible Fury, screaming in a formidable way.

As all this, however, bore some resemblance to a duel, D'Artagnan began to recover himself little by little.

Well, beautiful lady, very well, said he.

But, Pardieu, if you don't calm yourself, I will design a second floor deliver upon one of those pretty cheeks.

Scoundrel infamous scoundrel held My Lady.

But D'Artagnan, still keeping on the defensive, drew near to Kitty's door.

At the noise they made.

She in overturning the furniture.

In her efforts to get at him, he in screening himself behind the furniture to keep out of her reach, kiddie opened the door.

D'artagnan, who had unceasingly maneuvered to gain this point, was not at more than three paces from it.

With one spring, he flew from the Chamber of My Lady into that of the maid, and quickest lightning, he slammed to the door and placed all his weight against it while Kitty pushed the bolts.

Then My Lady attempted to tear down the door case with a strength apparently above that of a woman.

But finding she could not accomplish this, she and her Fury stabbed at the door with her ponyard, the point of which repeatedly glittered through the wood.

Every blow was accompanied with terrible imprecations.

Quick, Kitty, quick, said D'Artagnan in a low voice.

As soon as the bolts were fast, let me get out of the hotel, for if we leave her time to turn around, she will have me killed by the servants.

But you can't go out so, said Kitty.

You are naked.

That's true, said D'Artagnan, then, first thinking of the costume he found himself in.

That's true, but dress me as well as you are able.

Only make haste.

Think, my dear girl, it's life and death.

Kitty was but too aware of that.

In a turn of the hand, she muffled him up in a flowered robe, a large hood, and a cloak.

She gave him some slippers in which he placed his naked feet and then conducted him down the stairs.

It was time.

My lady had already rung her Bell and roused the whole hotel.

The Porter was drawing the court at the moment.

My lady cried from her window.

Don't open.

The young man fled while she was still threatening him with an impotent gesture.

The moment she lost sight of him, My Lady tumbled fainting into her Chamber.

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