The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [284]
“Yes, Monsieur, I know that,” replied the duke, dipping his pen into the inkwell.
“Then Your Grace knows her real name?” asked Felton in a curt voice.
“I do.”
The duke brought the pen to the paper.
“And, knowing her real name,” Felton went on, “Monseigneur will sign all the same?”
“Of course,” said Buckingham, “and twice over.”
“I cannot believe,” continued Felton, in a voice that was becoming more and more curt and abrupt, “that His Grace knows it is a question of Lady de Winter…”
“I know it perfectly well, though I’m surprised that you know it!”
“And Your Grace will sign this order without remorse?”
Buckingham gave the young man a haughty look.
“Are you at all aware, Monsieur,” he said to him, “that you are asking me strange questions, and that I am quite foolish to answer them?”
“Answer, Monseigneur,” said Felton. “The situation is more serious than you may think.”
Buckingham thought that the young man, coming on the part of Lord de Winter, was probably speaking in his name, and he calmed himself.
“Without any remorse,” he said, “and the baron knows that Milady de Winter is a great offender, and that it is almost doing her a favor to limit her punishment to deportation.”
The duke put his pen to the paper.
“You shall not sign that order, Milord!” said Felton, taking a step towards the duke.
“I shall not sign this order?” said Buckingham. “And why not?”
“Because you will look into your own heart, and you will do justice to Milady.”
“It would be doing her justice to send her to Tyburn,” said Buckingham. “Milady is an infamous creature.”
“Monseigneur, Milady is an angel, you know it very well, and I demand that you set her free.”
“Are you mad,” said Buckingham, “that you speak to me in this way?”
“Milord, forgive me, I speak as I can! I will restrain myself. Nevertheless, Milord, think of what you are about to do, and beware of going beyond the measure!”
“I beg your pardon?…God help me,” cried Buckingham, “but I believe he’s threatening me!”
“No, Milord, I am still entreating, and I tell you: one drop of water is enough to make the full cup run over; one slight fault can draw down punishment on a head that has been spared despite so many crimes.”
“Monsieur Felton,” said Buckingham, “you will leave here and place yourself under arrest at once.”
“You are going to hear me out, Milord. You have seduced this young girl, you have outraged her, sullied her. Make good your crimes against her, let her leave freely, and I will demand nothing more of you.”
“Demand nothing more?” said Buckingham, looking at Felton in astonishment and stressing each syllable of the three words as he spoke them.
“Milord,” Felton went on, becoming more excited as he spoke, “Milord, take care, all England is weary of your iniquities. Milord, you have abused the royal power that you have almost usurped. Milord, you are held in horror by men and by God. God will punish you later, but I—I will punish you today.”
“Ah, this is too much!” cried Buckingham, taking a step towards the door.
Felton barred his way.
“I ask you humbly,” he said, “to sign the order setting Milady free. Consider that she is the woman you have dishonored.”
“Withdraw, Monsieur,” said Buckingham, “or I shall call and have you put in irons.”
“You will not call,” said Felton, thrusting himself between the duke and the bell sitting on a silver-inlaid stand. “Take care, Milord, for now you are in God’s hands.”
“In the devil’s hands, you mean!” cried Buckingham, raising his voice to attract people, though without calling out directly.
“Sign, Milord, sign the freedom of Lady de Winter,” said Felton, pushing a paper towards the duke.
“By force? Are you joking? Ho, there, Patrick!”
“Sign, Milord!”
“Never!”
“Never?”
“Help, ho!” cried the duke, and at the same time he leaped for his sword.
But Felton gave him no time to draw it. He had the knife with which Milady had stabbed herself unsheathed and hidden in his doublet. At one bound he was upon the duke.
Just then, Patrick