The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [108]
D’Artagnan mused on the mysterious and tenuous threads upon which the destinies of great nations and the lives of mere men are sometimes hung. He was lost in these thoughts when the goldsmith entered.
O’Reilly, master of his guild, was an Irishman; among the most skilled workmen of Europe, he earned, as he himself admitted, one hundred thousand livres a year from Buckingham’s custom alone.
“Come in here, O’Reilly, come in!” Buckingham led the goldsmith into his chapel. “Look at these studs and tell me what they are worth apiece.”
O’Reilly cast a single glance at the elegant mounting of the jewels . . . estimated the worth of each stud . . . looked at the whole display rapidly to make sure he was accurate in his appraisal . . . and without hesitation:
“Fifteen hundred pistoles apiece, and beauties they be, M’Lud,” he said pontifically.
“How soon can you make two studs to match these ten, O’Reilly?”
“A week, Your Grace.”
“O’Reilly, I will give you three thousand pistoles for each of the two studs if I can have them by the day after tomorrow.”
“M’Lud, have them you shall!”
“You are worth your weight in gold, Master Goldsmith, but that is not all. These studs must not be entrusted to anybody; the work must be done here, under this roof.”
“Impossible, M’Lud. No one else can make new studs to look like the others, Your Grace, even if I say so as shouldn’t.”
“That is why you are now a prisoner here, my dear O’Reilly. Even if you wanted to leave this hospitable dwelling at this moment, you could not do so. Come, my friend, make the best of it. Name any of your workmen you need and tell me what tools they must bring along.”
O’Reilly knew the Duke; he realized that any objection would be futile and he made up his mind then and there.
“May I let my wife know, please, M’Lud?”
“Certainly. You may even see her, my dear O’Reilly. Your captivity will be a mild one, rest assured. And because every inconvenience calls for compensation, here—over and above the price of the studs—here are a thousand pistoles to console you for the trouble I am giving you.”
D’Artagnan could not recover from his surprise as he saw how this statesman played ducks and drakes with men and millions. As for the jeweler, he wrote to his wife, enclosing the draft for a thousand pistoles and asking her to send his most skilful apprentice . . . an assortment of diamonds (he specified names and weights) . . . the required tools which he carefully listed . . . his nightshirt and a change of clothes. . . . Buckingham led him to the apartment allotted to him: within a half-hour it was transformed into a workshop. A sentry was stationed at each door with orders to allow only Patrick to go in and no one to go out.
Having settled this matter, Buckingham turned his attention to D’Artagnan.
“Now, my young friend,” he said affably, “all England is yours. What can I do for you? Say what you want and it shall be done.”
“Thank you, Milord, the one thing I crave is a bed to lie down on.”
Buckingham assigned D’Artagnan a room adjoining his own. He wished to keep the lad close at hand, not because he mistrusted him but because he wished to have someone to whom he could constantly talk about the Queen.
An hour later an ordinance was published in London forbidding the departure from all British ports of vessels bound for France; even the mail packet was to be held up. Public opinion viewed this act as a declaration of war between the two kingdoms. Two days later, at eleven o’clock, the new studs were finished, their lustre and workmanship so perfect that neither Buckingham nor even an expert dealer could have distinguished them from the others. The Duke summoned D’Artagnan immediately.
“Here are the studs you came to fetch,” he said, “I trust you will report that I have