“Buckingham! Then it is Buckingham!” cried Felton, in exasperation.
Milady hid her face in her hands, as if she could not endure the shame which this name recalled to her.
“Buckingham, the executioner of this angelic creature!” cried Felton. “And Thou hast not hurled Thy thunder at him, my God! And Thou hast left him noble, honoured, powerful, for the ruin of us all!”
“God abandons him who abandons himself,” said milady.
“But He will draw down on his head the punishment reserved for the damned!” said Felton, with increasing excitement. “He wishes that human vengeance should precede heavenly justice.”
“Men fear him and spare him.”
“I,” said Felton—“I do not fear him, nor will I spare him!”
Milady felt her soul bathed in a hellish joy.
Several knocks resounded on the door. This time milady really pushed him away from her.
“Hark!” said she; “we have been overheard. Some one is coming! All is over! We are lost!”
“No,” said Felton; “it is only the sentinel warning me that they are about to change guard.”
“Then run to the door and open it yourself.”
Felton obeyed. This woman was already his whole thought, his whole soul.
He found a sergeant in command of a watch patrol.
“Well, what is the matter?” asked the young lieutenant.
“You told me to open the door if I heard any one cry out,” said the soldier; “but you forgot to leave me the key. I heard you cry out without understanding what you said. I tried to open the door, but it was locked inside; then I called the sergeant.”
“And here I am,” said the sergeant.
Felton, bewildered, almost mad, stood speechless.
Milady, perceiving that it was now her turn to come forward, ran to the table, and seizing the knife which Felton had laid down,
“And what right have you to prevent me from dying?” said she.
“Great God!” exclaimed Felton, on seeing the knife glitter in her hand.
At that moment a burst of ironical laughter resounded through the corridor. Attracted by the noise, the baron, in his dressing-gown, his sword under his arm, was standing in the doorway.
“Ah, ha!” said he; “here we are, at the last act of the tragedy. You see, Felton, the drama has gone through all the phases I named. But be at ease; no blood will flow.”
Milady perceived that all was lost unless she gave Felton an instant and terrible proof of her courage.
“You are mistaken, my lord—blood will flow; and may that blood fall back on those who cause it to flow!”
Felton uttered a cry and rushed toward her. He was too late; milady had stabbed herself.
But the knife had very fortunately, we should say skilfully, come in contact with the steel busk which at that period, like a cuirass, defended women’s bosoms; it had glided down it, tearing her dress, and had penetrated slantingly between the flesh and the ribs.
Milady’s robe was none the less stained with blood in a second. Milady fell backward and seemed to have fainted.
Felton snatched away the knife.
“See, my lord,” said he, in a deep, gloomy tone, “here is a woman who was under my guard, and who has killed herself!”
“Do not worry, Felton,” said Lord Winter. “She is not dead; demons do not die so easily. Do not worry, but go wait for me in my chamber.”
“But my lord—”
“Go, sir; I command you.”
At this injunction from his superior, Felton obeyed; but as he went out he put the knife into his bosom.
Lord Winter contented himself with calling the woman who waited on milady, and when she came he recommended the prisoner, who was still in a swoon, to her care, and left her alone with her.
But as the wound after all might be serious, he immediately sent off a man on horseback to fetch a doctor.
Chapter 49 - Escape
As Lord Winter had thought, milady’s wound was not dangerous. So soon as she was left alone with the woman whom the baron had summoned, and who hastened to her, she opened her eyes.
It was necessary, however, to affect weakness and pain, but this was not a very difficult task for an actress like milady. Thus the poor woman was completely the prisoner’s dupe, and notwithstanding her entreaties, she persisted in watching all night.
But this woman’s presence did not prevent milady from thinking.
There was no longer any doubt that Felton was convinced; Felton was hers. If an angel appeared to that young man to accuse milady, he would certainly, in that disposition of mind he was then in, regard him as a messenger from the demon.
Milady smiled at this thought, for Felton was henceforth her only hope, her only means of safety.
But Lord Winter might have suspected him! But Felton himself might now be watched!
Toward four o’clock in the morning the doctor came. Since milady had stabbed herself the wound had already closed. The doctor could therefore measure neither its direction nor depth. He only recognized by milady’s pulse that her case was not serious.
In the morning milady, under the pretence of not having slept during the night and wanting rest, sent away the woman who attended her.
She had one hope—that Felton would appear at the breakfast hour; but Felton did not come.
Were her fears realized? Was Felton, suspected by the baron, about to fail her at the decisive moment? She had only one day left. Lord Winter had announced her embarkation for the 23rd, and it was now the morning of the 22nd.
Nevertheless she still waited patiently till the dinner hour.
Though she had eaten nothing in the morning, the dinner was brought in at its usual time. Milady then perceived with terror that the uniform of the soldiers who guarded her was changed.
Then she ventured to ask what had become of Felton.
She was told that he had left the castle an hour before on horseback. She inquired whether the baron was still at the castle. The soldier replied that he was, and that he had given orders to be informed if the prisoner wished to speak to him.
Milady replied that she was too weak at present, and that her only desire was to be left alone.
The soldier went out, leaving the dinner served.
Felton was sent away; the marines were changed. Felton, then, was mistrusted!
This was the last blow to the prisoner.
Left alone, she got up. The bed in which she had remained for prudence, and in order that she might be believed to be seriously wounded, burnt her like a blazing fire. She cast a glance at the door. The baron had had a plank nailed over the grating. He feared, no doubt, that through this opening she might still, by some diabolical means, succeed in corrupting her guards.
At six o’clock Lord Winter came in. He was armed to the teeth. This man, in whom milady till that time had only seen a rather silly gentleman, had become an admirable jailer. He appeared to foresee everything, to divine everything, to anticipate everything.
A single look at milady informed him of all that was passing in her mind.
“Ay!” said he, “I see; but you will not kill me to-day either. You have no longer a weapon; and besides, I am on my guard. You began to pervert my poor Felton. He was already yielding to your infernal influence. But I intend to save him. He will never see you again; all is over. Get your clothes together; to-morrow you will go. I had fixed the embarkation for the 24th. But I have reflected that the more promptly the affair takes place, the more certain it will be. To-morrow at noon I shall have the order for your exile, signed ‘Buckingham.’ Au revoir, then. That is all I have to say to you to-day. To-morrow I will see you again, to take my leave of you.”
And at these words the baron went out.
The supper was served. Milady felt that she needed all her strength. She did not know what might take place during this night, which was approaching portentously, for enormous clouds were rolling over the face of the sky, and distant lightning announced a storm.
Suddenly she heard a tap at her window, and by the help of a flash of lightning she saw the face of a man appear behind the bars.
She ran to the window and opened it.
“Felton!” cried she. “I am saved!”
“Yes,” said Felton; “but be silent, be silent! I must have time to file through these bars. Only take care that they do not see me through the grating of the door.”
“Oh, it is a proof that the Lord is on our side, Felton!” replied milady. “The grating is closed with a board.”
“That is well; God has made them mad!” said Felton.
Milady shut the window, extinguished the lamp, and went to lie down on the bed. Amid the moaning of the storm she heard the grinding of the file on the bars, and by the light of every flash she saw Felton’s shadow behind the panes.
She spent an hour scarcely breathing, panting, with a cold sweat on her brow, and her heart oppressed by frightful agony at every movement she heard in the corridor.
There are hours that last a year.
At the end of an hour Felton tapped again.
Milady sprang out of bed and opened the window. Two bars removed made an opening large enough for a man to pass through.
“Are you ready?” asked Felton.
“Yes. Must I take anything with me?”
“Money, if you have any.”
“Yes; fortunately they have left me all I had.”
“So much the better, for I have expended all mine in hiring a vessel.”
“Here!” said milady, placing a bag full of louis in Felton’s hands. Felton took the bag and threw it to the foot of the wall.
“Now,” said he, “will you come?”
“I am here.”
Milady climbed on a chair, and leaned the upper part of her body through the window. She saw the young officer suspended over the abyss by a rope ladder. For the first time a feeling of terror reminded her that she was a woman. The dark space frightened her.
“I expected this,” said Felton.
“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s nothing!” said milady; “I will descend with my eyes shut.”
“Have you confidence in me?” said Felton.
“Can you ask me such a question?”
“Put your two hands together. Cross them; that’s right!”
Felton fastened her two wrists together with a handkerchief, and then tied a cord over the handkerchief.
“What are you doing?” asked milady in surprise.
“Put your arms round my neck, and fear nothing.”
“But I shall make you lose your balance, and we shall both be dashed to pieces.”
“Don’t be afraid. I am a sailor.”
Not a second was to be lost. Milady put her arms round Felton’s neck, and let herself slip out of the window.
Felton began to descend the ladder slowly, step by step. In spite of the weight of their bodies, the blast of the hurricane made them swing to and fro in the air.
“Now,” said Felton, “we are safe!”
Milady breathed a deep sigh and fainted.
Felton continued to descend. When he reached the bottom of the ladder, and found no more support for his feet, he clung to it with his hands. At length, coming to the last round, he hung by his hands and touched the ground. He stooped down, picked up the bag of money, and took it in his teeth.
Then he seized milady in his arms, and set off briskly in the direction opposite to the one the patrol had taken. He soon left the beat, climbed across the rocks, and when he reached the shore of the sea, whistled.
A similar signal replied to him, and five minutes after a boat appeared, rowed by four men.
“To the sloop,” said Felton, “and give way lively.”
A black speck was rocking on the sea. It was the sloop.
While the boat was advancing with all the speed its four oarsmen could give it, Felton untied the cord, and then the handkerchief that bound milady’s hands together.
They drew near to the sloop. A sailor on watch hailed the boat; the boat replied.
“What vessel is this?” asked milady.
“One I hired for you.”
“Where is it going to carry me?”
“Wherever you please, after you have landed me at Portsmouth.”
“What are you going to do at Portsmouth?” asked milady.
“Fulfil Lord Winter’s orders,” said Felton, with a gloomy smile.
“What orders?” insisted milady.
“Do you not understand?” asked Felton.
“No; explain yourself, I beg of you.”
“As he mistrusted me, he determined to guard you himself, and sent me in his place to get Buckingham to sign the order for your transportation.”
“But if he mistrusted you, how could he confide such an order to you?”
“Could I be supposed to know what I was the bearer of?”
“True! And you are going to Portsmouth?”
“I have no time to lose. To-morrow is the 23rd, and Buckingham sets sail to-morrow with his fleet.”
“He sets sail to-morrow! Where for?”
“For Rochelle.”
“He must not sail!” cried milady, forgetting her usual presence of mind.
“Do not worry!” replied Felton; “he will not sail.”
Milady started with joy. She had just read to the depths of this young man’s heart: Buckingham’s death was written there at full length.
“Felton,” cried she, “you are as great as Judas Maccab?us! If you die, I will die with you; that is all I can say to you.”
“Silence!” cried Felton; “we are here.”
In fact they were grazing the sloop.
Felton climbed up the ladder first, and gave milady his hand, while the sailors supported her, for the sea was still very turbulent.
An instant after they were on the deck.
“Captain,” said Felton, “this is the lady of whom I spoke to you, and whom you must convey safe and sound to France.
“In the meanwhile,” he continued, “convey me to the little bay of—; you know it was agreed you should put in there.”
The captain replied by ordering the necessary man?uvres, and toward seven o’clock in the morning the little vessel was casting anchor in the designated bay.
During this passage Felton related everything to milady—how, instead of going to London, he had hired the little vessel; how he had returned; how he had scaled the wall by fastening cramps in the interstices of the stones as he ascended, to give him foothold; and how, when he had reached the bars, he fastened his ladder. Milady knew the rest.
Milady tried to encourage Felton in his project, but at the first words that issued from her mouth she plainly saw that the young fanatic stood more in need of being moderated than urged on.
It was agreed that milady should wait for Felton till ten o’clock. If he did not return by ten o’clock, she was to sail without him.
Then, in case he was free, he was to rejoin her in France, at the convent of the Carmelites, at Béthune.
Chapter 50 - What took place at Portsmouth, August 23, 1628
Felton took leave of milady as a brother about to go for a mere walk takes leave of his sister—by kissing her hand.
He entered Portsmouth about eight o’clock in the morning. The whole population was on foot. Drums were beating in the streets and in the port. The troops about to be embarked were marching toward the sea.
Felton arrived at the palace of the Admiralty covered with dust and streaming with perspiration. His face, usually so pale, was purple with heart and passion. The sentinel was about to keep him away, but Felton called to the officer of the post, and drawing from his pocket the letter of which he was the bearer,
