“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 Milady; 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.”