Her beautiful face was distorted， her glassy eyes were fixed， a convulsive shuddering shook her body， the sweat stood on her brow.
“In Heaven’s name， run， call！ Aramis！ Porthos！ call for help！”
“Useless！” said Athos， “useless！ For the poison which she pours out there is no antidote.”
“Yes， yes！ help， help！” murmured Madame Bonacieux—“help！”
Then collecting all her strength， she took the young man’s head between her hands， looked at him for an instant as if her whole soul had passed into her look， and pressed her lips to his.
“Constance！ Constance！” cried D’Artagnan wildly.
A sigh escaped from Madame Bonacieux’s mouth and dwelt for an instant on D’Artagnan’s lips. That sigh was her soul， so chaste and so loving， reascending to heaven.
D’Artagnan held only a corpse pressed to his heart.
The young man uttered a cry， and fell by his mistress’s side as pale and as cold as she was.
Porthos wept， Aramis lifted his hand toward heaven， Athos made the sign of the cross.
At that moment a man appeared in the doorway， almost as pale as those in the room， looked round him， saw Madame Bonacieux dead and D’Artagnan fainting.
He appeared just at that moment of stupor which follows great catastrophes.
“I was not mistaken，” said he. “Here is M. d’Artagnan， and you are his three friends， MM. Athos， Porthos， and Aramis.
“Gentlemen，” continued the stranger， “since you will not recognize a man who probably owes his life to you twice， I must name myself. I am the Lord Winter—that woman’s brother-in-law.”
The three friends uttered a cry of surprise.
Athos rose and offered him his hand.
“You are welcome， milord，” said he； “you are one of our friends.”
“I left Portsmouth five hours after her，” said Lord Winter. “I arrived three hours after her at Boulogne. I missed her by twenty minutes at St. Omer. At last at Liliers I lost trace of her. I was going about at haphazard， inquiring of every one， when I saw you gallop by. I recognized M. d’Artagnan. I called to you； you did not answer. I tried to follow you， but my horse was too tired to go at the same rate as yours. And yet it seems that， in spite of all your diligence， you still arrived too late.”
At that moment D’Artagnan opened his eyes.
He tore himself from the arms of Porthos and Aramis， and threw himself like a madman on his mistress’s dead body.
Athos rose， walked up to his friend with a slow and solemn step， kissed him tenderly， and as he burst into violent sobs， said to him， with his noble and persuasive voice，“Friend， be a man！ Women weep for the dead； men avenge them！”
And affectionate as a father， consoling as a priest， great as a man who has suffered much， he drew away his friend.
All five， followed by their lackeys leading their horses， took their way to the town of Béthune， the outlying houses of which they saw， and stopped at the first inn to which they came.
“But，” said D’Artagnan， “are we not to pursue that woman？”
“Presently，” said Athos； “I have certain measures to take.”
“She will escape us，” replied the young man—“she will escape us， Athos， and it will be your fault.”
“I will answer for her，” said Athos.
D’Artagnan had such trust in his friend’s word that he bowed his head， and entered the inn without making a reply.
Porthos and Aramis looked at each other， not at all understanding Athos’s confidence.
Lord Winter thought he spoke in this way to assuage D’Artagnan’s sorrow.
“Now， gentlemen，” said Athos， when he had ascertained there were five vacant rooms in the hotel， “let us each retire to his own chamber. D’Artagnan needs to be alone， to weep and to sleep. I take charge of everything. Do not worry.”
“It seems to me， however，” said Lord Winter， “that if there are any measures to be taken against the countess， it concerns me； she is my sister-in-law.”
“Me also！” said Athos； “she is my wife.
D’Artagnan smiled， for he realized that Athos was sure of his vengeance since he revealed such a secret. Porthos and Aramis looked at each other. Lord Winter thought Athos was mad.
“Now， all go to your rooms，” said Athos， “and leave me to act. You must perceive that in my quality of a husband this concerns me. Only， D’Artagnan， if you have not lost it， give me the piece of paper which fell from that man’s hat. The name of the village of—is written on it.”
“Ah！” said D’Artagnan， “I understand now. That name written in her hand—”
“You see，” said Athos， “there is a God in heaven！”
