D’Artagnan advanced.

“Before God and before men,” said he, “I accuse this woman of having poisoned Constance Bonacieux, who died yesterday evening.”

He turned towards Porthos and Aramis.

“We bear witness to this,” said the two Musketeers, with one voice.

D’Artagnan continued:  “Before God and before men, I accuse this woman of having attempted to poison me, in wine which she sent me from Villeroy, with a forged letter, as if that wine came from my friends.  God preserved me, but a man named Brisemont died in my place.”

“We bear witness to this,” said Porthos and Aramis, in the same manner as before.

“Before God and before men, I accuse this woman of having urged me to the murder of the Baron de Wardes; but as no one else can attest the truth of this accusation, I attest it myself.  I have done.”  And d’Artagnan passed to the other side of the room with Porthos and Aramis.

“Your turn, my Lord,” said Athos.

The baron came forward.

“Before God and before men,” said he, “I accuse this woman of having caused the assassination of the Duke of Buckingham.”

“The Duke of Buckingham assassinated!” cried all present, with one voice.

“Yes,” said the baron, “assassinated.  On receiving the warning letter you wrote to me, I had this woman arrested, and gave her in charge to a loyal servant.  She corrupted this man; she placed the poniard in his hand; she made him kill the duke.  And at this moment, perhaps, Felton is paying with his head for the crime of this fury!”

A shudder crept through the judges at the revelation of these unknown crimes.

“That is not all,” resumed Lord de Winter.  “My brother, who made you his heir, died in three hours of a strange disorder which left livid traces all over the body.  My sister, how did your husband die?”

“Horror!” cried Porthos and Aramis.

“Assassin of Buckingham, assassin of Felton, assassin of my brother, I demand justice upon you, and I swear that if it be not granted to me, I will execute it myself.”

And Lord de Winter ranged himself by the side of d’Artagnan, leaving the place free for another accuser.

Milady let her head sink between her two hands, and tried to recall her ideas, whirling in a mortal vertigo.

“My turn,” said Athos, himself trembling as the lion trembles at the sight of the serpent—­“my turn.  I married that woman when she was a young girl; I married her in opposition to the wishes of all my family; I gave her my wealth, I gave her my name; and one day I discovered that this woman was branded—­this woman was marked with a fleur-de-lis on her left shoulder.”

“Oh,” said Milady, raising herself, “I defy you to find any tribunal which pronounced that infamous sentence against me.  I defy you to find him who executed it.”

“Silence!” said a hollow voice.  “It is for me to reply to that!” And the man in the red cloak came forward in his turn.