D’Artagnan and Planchet did not require twice bidding. They unfastened the two horses that were waiting at the door, leaped upon them, buried their spurs in their sides, and set off at full gallop.
And both, with free use of the spur, arrived at St. Omer without drawing bridle. At St. Omer they breathed their horses with their bridles passed under their arms, for fear of accident, and ate a hasty morsel standing in the road, after which they departed again.
At a hundred paces from the gates of Calais D’Artagnan’s horse sank under him, and could not by any means be made to get up again, the blood flowing from both his eyes and his nose. There still remained Planchet’s horse, but he had stopped short, and could not be started again.
Fortunately, as we have said, they were within a hundred paces of the city. They left their two horses upon the highway, and ran toward the port. Planchet called his master’s attention to a gentleman who had just arrived with his lackey, and who was about fifty paces ahead of them.
They made all haste to come up to this gentleman, who appeared to be in a great hurry. His boots were covered with dust, and he was asking whether he could not instantly cross over to England.
“Nothing would be more easy,” said the captain of a vessel ready to set sail, “but this morning an order arrived that no one should be allowed to cross without express permission from the cardinal.”
“I have that permission,” said the gentleman, drawing a paper from his pocket; “here it is.”
“Have it signed by the governor of the port,” said the captain, “and give me the preference.”
“Where shall I find the governor?”
“At his country house.”
“Where is that situated?”
“A quarter of a league from the city. Look, you may see it from here, at the foot of that little hill, that slated roof.”
“Very well,” said the gentleman.
And with his lackey he started for the governor’s country house.
D’Artagnan and Planchet followed the gentleman at a distance of five hundred paces.
Once outside the city, D’Artagnan quickly overtook the gentleman as he was entering a little wood.
“Planchet,” called out D’Artagnan, “take care of the lackey. I will manage the master.”
Planchet, emboldened by his first exploit, sprang upon Lubin; and being strong and vigorous, he soon got him on his back, and placed his knee on his chest.
“Go on with your affair, sir,” cried Planchet; “I have finished mine.”
Seeing this, the gentleman drew his sword, and sprang upon D’Artagnan; but he had to deal with a tough customer.
In three seconds D’Artagnan had wounded him three times, exclaiming at each thrust,
“One for Athos! one for Porthos! and one for Aramis!”
At the third thrust the gentleman fell like a log.
D’Artagnan believed him to be dead, or at least insensible, and went toward him for the purpose of taking the order. But at the moment he stretched out his hand to search for it, the wounded man, who had not dropped his sword, pricked him in the breast, crying,
“And one for you!”
“And one for me—the best for the last!” cried D’Artagnan in a rage, nailing him to the earth with a fourth thrust through his body.
This time the gentleman closed his eyes and fainted. D’Artagnan searched his pockets, and took from one of them the order for the passage. It was in the name of the Comte de Wardes.
Then casting a glance on the handsome young man, who was scarcely twenty-five years of age, and whom he was leaving lying there unconscious and perhaps dead, he uttered a sigh over that unaccountable destiny which leads men to destroy one another for the interests of people who are strangers to them, and who often do not even know of their existence.
But he was soon roused from these reflections by Lubin, who uttered loud cries, and screamed for help with all his might.
Planchet grasped him by the throat, and pressed as hard as he could.
“Sir,” said he, “as long as I hold him in this manner he can’t cry, I’ll be bound; but as soon as I let go, he will howl again as loud as ever. I have found out that he’s a Norman, and Normans are obstinate.”
In fact, tightly held as he was, Lubin endeavoured still to make a noise.
“Wait!” said D’Artagnan; and taking out his handkerchief, he gagged him.
“Now,” said Planchet, “let us bind him to a tree.”
This being properly done, they drew the Comte de Wardes close to his servant; and as night was approaching, and as the wounded man and the bound man were both at some little distance within the wood, it was evident they would remain there till the next day.
“And now,” said D’Artagnan, “to the governor’s house.”
“But you appear to me to be wounded,” said Planchet.
“Oh, that’s nothing! Let us dispatch what is most pressing first, and we will attend to my wound afterwards; besides, it does not seem a very dangerous one.”
And they both set forward as fast as they could towards the worthy functionary’s country seat.
The governor signed the passport and delivered it to D’Artagnan, who lost no time in useless compliments, but thanked the governor, bowed, and departed.
Once out, he and Planchet set off as fast as they could, and by making a détour, avoided the wood, and re-entered the city by another gate.
The vessel was quite ready to sail, and the captain waiting on the wharf.
“Well?” said he, on perceiving D’Artagnan.
“Here is my pass, signed,” said the latter.
“And that other gentleman?”
“He will not go to-day,” said D’Artagnan; “but here, I’ll pay you for us two.”
“In that case we will be gone,” said the captain.
“Yes; as soon as you please,” replied D’Artagnan.
He leaped with Planchet into the boat. Five minutes after they were on board.
D’Artagnan did not know London, he did not know one word of English, but he wrote the name of Buckingham on a piece of paper, and every one to whom he showed it pointed out to him the way to the duke’s palace.
The duke was at Windsor hunting with the king.
D’Artagnan inquired for the duke’s confidential valet, who, having accompanied him in all his travels, spoke French perfectly well. He told him that he came from Paris on an affair of life and death, and that he must speak with his master instantly.
The confidence with which D’Artagnan spoke convinced Patrick, which was the name of the minister’s minister. He ordered two horses to be saddled, and himself went as the young guardsman’s guide. As for Planchet, he had been lifted from his horse as stiff as a stake. The poor lad’s strength was exhausted. D’Artagnan seemed to be made of iron.
On their arrival at the castle they inquired for the duke, and learned that he was hawking with the king in the marshes, two or three leagues away.
In twenty minutes they were at the place designated. Patrick soon caught the sound of his master’s voice recalling his falcon.
“Whom shall I announce to my Lord Duke?” asked Patrick.
“The young man who one evening sought a quarrel with him on the Pont Neuf, opposite the Samaritaine.”
“Rather a singular introduction!”
“You will find that it is as good as any other.”
Patrick galloped off, reached the duke, and announced to him in these very words that a messenger awaited him.
Buckingham at once remembered the circumstance, and suspecting that something was going on in France, concerning which news was now brought to him, he took only the time to inquire where the messenger was, and recognizing at a distance the uniform of the guards, he put his horse into a gallop, and rode straight up to D’Artagnan. Patrick discreetly kept in the background.
“Has any misfortune happened to the queen?” cried Buckingham, throwing all his fear and love into the question.
“I believe not. Nevertheless, I believe she is in some great peril from which your Grace alone can extricate her.”
“I!” cried Buckingham. “What is it? I should be but too happy to render her any service. Speak! speak!”
“Take this letter,” said D’Artagnan.
“This letter! From whom does this letter come?”
“From her Majesty, as I think.”
“From her Majesty!” said Buckingham, becoming so pale that D’Artagnan feared he was going to be ill; and he broke the seal.
“Just Heaven! what have I read?” cried the duke.—“Patrick, remain here, or rather join the king, wherever he may be, and tell his Majesty that I humbly beg him to excuse me, but an affair of the greatest importance calls me to London.—Come, sir, come!” And both set off toward the capital at full gallop.
Chapter 19 - The Comtesse de Winter
As they rode along the duke learned from D’Artagnan, not all that had passed, but all that D’Artagnan himself knew. By adding what he got from the young man to his own recollections, he was enabled to form a pretty exact idea of a condition of things the seriousness of which the queen’s letter, short and vague as it was, conveyed to him quite clearly.
The horses went like the wind, and they were soon at the gates of London.
On entering the court of his palace Buckingham sprang from his horse, and without caring what would become of him, threw the bridle on his neck and sprang toward the staircase.
The duke walked so fast that D’Artagnan had some trouble in keeping up with him. He passed through several apartments furnished with an elegance of which the greatest nobles of France had not even an idea, and arrived at length in a bedchamber which was at once a miracle of taste and of splendour. In the alcove of this chamber was a door, made in the tapestry, which the duke opened with a small gold key suspended from his neck by a chain of the same metal.
They then found themselves in a small chapel hung with a tapestry of Persian silk and embossed with gold, and brilliantly lit with a vast number of wax candles. Over a kind of altar, and beneath a canopy of blue velvet, surmounted by white and red plumes, was a life-size portrait of Anne of Austria, such a perfect likeness that D’Artagnan uttered a cry of surprise on beholding it. You might believe that the queen was about to speak.
On the altar, and beneath the portrait, was the casket containing the diamond studs.
The duke approached the altar, fell on his knees, as a priest might have done before a crucifix, then opened the casket.
“Here,” said he, drawing from the casket a large bow of blue ribbon all sparkling with diamonds—“here,” said he, “are the precious studs which I have taken an oath should be buried with me. The queen gave them to me; the queen takes them from me. Her will, like that of God, be done in all things.”
Then he began to kiss, one after the other, those studs with which he was about to part. All at once he uttered a terrible cry.
“What is the matter?” exclaimed D’Artagnan anxiously; “what has happened to you, milord?”
“All is lost! all is lost!” cried Buckingham, turning as pale as death; “two of the studs are missing—there are but ten of them left!”
“Can you have lost them, milord, or do you think they have been stolen?”
“They have been stolen,” replied the duke, “and it is the cardinal who has dealt me this blow. See! the ribbons which held them have been cut with scissors.”
“If milord suspects they have been stolen, perhaps the person who stole them still has them.”
“Let me reflect,” said the duke. “The only time I wore these studs was at a ball given by the king a week ago at Windsor. The Comtesse de Winter, with whom I had had a quarrel, became reconciled to me at that ball. That reconciliation was a jealous woman’s vengeance. I have never seen her since. The woman is an agent of the cardinal’s.”
“Why, then, he has agents throughout the whole world!” cried D’Artagnan.
“Yes, yes,” said Buckingham, gnashing his teeth with rage; “he is a terrible antagonist! But when is the ball to take place?”
“Next Monday.”
“Next Monday! Five days yet. That’s more time than we need.— Patrick!” cried the duke, opening the door of the chapel—“Patrick!”
His confidential valet appeared.
“My jeweller and my secretary.”
The valet went out with a mute promptness and silence that showed he was accustomed to obey blindly and without reply.
But although the jeweller had been summoned first, it was the secretary who first made his appearance. This was simple enough. He lived in the palace. He found Buckingham seated at a table in his bedchamber writing orders with his own hand.
“Master Jackson,” said he, “go instantly to the lord chancellor, and tell him that I desire him to execute these orders. I wish them to be promulgated immediately.”
The secretary bowed and retired.
“We are safe on that side,” said Buckingham, turning toward D’Artagnan. “If the studs are not yet gone to Paris, they will not arrive till after you.”
“How so, milord?”
“I have just placed an embargo on all vessels at present in his Majesty’s ports, and without special permission not one will dare raise an anchor.”
D’Artagnan was astonished to see by what fragile and unknown threads the destinies of a nation and the lives of men are sometimes suspended.
He was lost in these reflections when the goldsmith entered. He was an Irishman, one of the most skilful of his craft, and who himself confessed that he gained a hundred thousand pounds a year by the Duke of Buckingham.
“Master O’Reilly,” said the Duke to him, leading him into the chapel, “look at these diamond studs, and tell me what they are worth apiece.”
The goldsmith cast a glance at the elegant manner in which they were set, calculated, one with another, what the diamonds were worth, and without hesitation,
“Fifteen hundred pistoles each, your Grace,” replied he.
“How many days would it require to make two studs exactly like them? You see there are two wanting.”
“A week, your Grace.”
“I will give you three thousand pistoles each if I can have them by the day after to-morrow.”
“Your Grace, you shall have them.”
An hour later the ordinance was published in London that no vessel bound for France should leave the ports—not even the packet-boat with letters. In the eyes of everybody this was a declaration of war between the two kingdoms.
On the day after the next, by eleven o’clock, the two diamond studs were finished; and they were such exact imitations, so perfectly like the others, that Buckingham could not tell the new ones from the old ones, and the most practised in such matters would have been deceived as he was.
He immediately called D’Artagnan.
“Here,” said he to him, “are the diamond studs that you came to fetch; and be my witness that I have done all that human power could do.”
“Rest assured, milord; I will tell what I have seen. But does your Grace mean to give me the studs without the casket?”
“The casket would only encumber you. Besides, the casket is the more precious from being all that is left to me. You will say that I keep it.”
“I will perform your commission word for word, milord.”
“And now,” resumed Buckingham, looking earnestly at the young man, “how shall I ever acquit myself towards you?”
