The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [106]
“Pray read this letter, Milord.”
“A letter from whom?”
“From Her Majesty, I think.”
“From Her Majesty!” Buckingham repeated, turning so pale that D’Artagnan feared he was about to faint. His hands trembling, he broke the seal.
“Why is this letter ripped here?” Buckingham asked, his finger on a portion of the letter where the paper was pierced through.
“I had not noticed that, Milord,” D’Artagnan said. “The Comte de Vardes made that hole when his sword pinked my chest.”
“Are you wounded?” Buckingham asked, unfolding the letter.
“Nothing serious, Milord, a mere scratch.”
“Great Heavens, what have I read?” Buckingham cried aghast. Then, imperiously: “Stay here, Patrick, or rather find the King wherever he is and tell His Majesty that I beseech him to excuse me but that a matter of the utmost importance calls me to London.” Turning to D’Artagnan: “Come, Monsieur, come!” he ordered.
And both set off toward the capital at full gallop.
XXI
LADY CLARK
Along the way the Duke drew from D’Artagnan not all that happened but what D’Artagnan himself knew. By adding what he recalled to what information the young Gascon gave him, Buckingham was able to form a pretty exact idea of the state of affairs. The Queen’s letter was short and scarcely informative but it afforded ample confirmation of how serious the situation must be. What surprised him most was that the Cardinal, so vitally interested in preventing the youth from reaching England, had been powerless to intercept him. In the face of this astonishment, D’Artagnan told him how carefully the voyage had been planned and what precautions had been taken . . . how devoted his three friends had been . . . how he had left them scattered along the road, bathed in their blood . . . how he had come off successfully save for the sword thrust which had pierced the Queen’s letter . . . and in what terrible coin he had repaid Monsieur de Vardes. . . . Listening to D’Artagnan’s plain matter-of-fact account, the Duke looked at the Gascon from time to time in wonder as if he could not understand how so much prudence, courage and devotion could belong to a man who looked barely twenty.
The horses went like the wind and in no time at all they reached the gates of London. D’Artagnan imagined that on arriving in the city the Duke would slacken his pace, but no! Buckingham rode on at top speed, heedless of any pedestrians so unfortunate as to stand in his path. As they crossed the city he ran down at least three people without even turning to see what had become of his victims. D’Artagnan followed amidst cries which sounded very much like curses.
Entering the courtyard of his mansion, Buckingham dismounted and without bothering about his steed, tossed the reins over its neck and rushed to the front steps. D’Artagnan followed suit except that he did show a little more concern for the noble animals whose worth he had been able to appreciate. He was pleased to see four grooms rushing from kitchen and stables to attend to the horses.
The Duke walked so fast that D’Artagnan had some trouble in keeping up with him. They passed through several apartments furnished with an elegance which even the greatest noblemen of France could not imagine; presently they reached a bedroom which was at once a miracle of taste and splendor. In the alcove of this room was a door cut through a tapestry; the Duke opened it with a small gold key which he wore on a chain of the same metal around his neck. Out of discretion, D’Artagnan lingered back, but as Buckingham passed through the door he turned around and noting the young man’s hesitation:
“Come in, my friend, come in,” he invited, “and if you are so fortunate as to be admitted to Her Majesty’s presence, pray tell her what you have seen.”
Encouraged by this invitation, D’Artagnan followed the Duke who closed the door behind them. They were in a small chapel tapestried with Persian silk and gold brocade and brilliantly lighted by a great number of wax tapers. Above a kind of altar and beneath a blue