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Milady’s Secret

           Itwasalmostbroaddaylight.

           D’ArtagnandetainedherbyhernightdressoffineIndialinen,toimploreherpardon;butshe,withastrongmovement,triedtoescape.Thenthecambricwastornfromherbeautifulshoulders;andononeofthoselovelyshoulders,roundandwhite,d’Artagnanrecognized,withinexpressibleastonishment,theFLEUR-DE-LIS—thatindeliblemarkwhichthehandoftheinfamousexecutionerhadimprinted.

           "GreatGod!"criedd’Artagnan,loosinghisholdofherdress,andremainingmute,motionless,andfrozen.

           ButMiladyfeltherselfdenouncedevenbyhisterror.Hehaddoubtlessseenall.Theyoungmannowknewhersecret,herterriblesecretthesecretsheconcealedevenfromhermaidwithsuchcare,thesecretofwhichalltheworldwasignorant,excepthimself.

           Sheturneduponhim,nolongerlikeafuriouswoman,butlikeawoundedpanther.

           "Ah,wretch!"criedshe,"youhavebaselybetrayedme,andstillmore,youhavemysecret!Youshalldie."

           Andsheflewtoalittleinlaidcasketwhichstooduponthedressingtable,openeditwithafeverishandtremblingband,drewfromitasmallponiard,withagoldenhaftandasharpthinblade,andthenthrewherselfwithaboundupond’Artagnan.

           Althoughtheyoungmanwasbrave,asweknow,hewasterrifiedatthatwildcountenance,thoseterriblydilatedpupils,thosepalecheeks,andthosebleedinglips.

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