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 done all that was humanly possible.”
“Milord need have no qualms on that score,” D’Artagnan assured him. “I shall tell what I have seen.” Buckingham nodded. “But Your Grace has not given me the casket,” D’Artagnan said in surprise.
“The casket would only be an encumbrance, my friend.” Buckingham sighed. “Besides, I treasure it, for it is all I have left of the Queen’s. You will tell Her Majesty that I am keeping it.”
“I shall deliver your message word for word, Milord.”
“And now,” Buckingham resumed looking earnestly at the young man, “how can I ever repay my debt to you?”
D’Artagnan blushed; obviously the Duke was trying to get him to accept some gift. But the idea that the blood of his comrades and his own were to be paid for with English gold was strangely repugnant.
“Let us understand each other, Milord,” he said courteously. “Let us see things clearly at outset in order to avoid misapprehension. I am in the service of the King and Queen of France. I am a Royal Guardsman; my Commanding Officer, Monsieur des Essarts, like his brother-in-law, Monsieur de Tréville, is particularly attached to their Majesties. Your Grace sees therefore under what auspices I have come here. What is more, I might perhaps never have undertaken all this had I not wished to please someone who is my lady, just as the Queen is yours.”
The Duke smiled: “Yes, I see! Indeed, I dare say I know the lady you refer to. It is—”
“I have not mentioned her name, Milord—”
“True, Monsieur. My debt of gratitude for your devotion therefore belongs to that lady—who shall remain nameless.”
“Exactly, Milord. At this moment, with war looming between our countries, I confess I can see nothing in Your Grace but an Englishman, hence an enemy. I need not add that I would therefore have greater pleasure in meeting you on the field of battle than in Windsor Park or in the halls of the Louvre. Nevertheless, nothing will prevent me from carrying out my mission in every detail or from laying down my life, if necessary, in so doing. But I repeat: I will accomplish this without Your Grace having cause to thank me at this time any more than at our first meeting.”
“We Englishmen say: ‘Proud as a Scot,’ ” Buckingham murmured.
“We Frenchmen say: ‘Proud as a Gascon,’ ” D’Artagnan replied, bowing. “The Gascons are the Scots of France.”
“Come now, you cannot leave like this. Where are you off to? How will you get away?”
“That’s true.”
“Upon my soul! you Frenchmen are cocksure!”
“I had forgotten that England was an island and you were its king.”
“Go to the port, ask for the brig Sund, and give the Captain this letter. He will convey you to a little harbor where you are surely not expected; it is used by fishermen only.”
“The harbor of—?”
“Saint-Valéry! But listen: when you land there, go to a mean-looking little inn on the front. It has no name or sign, it is a mere fishermen’s hovel; you can’t mistake it, it is the only such place.”
“And then?”
“You will ask for the host and say: Forward!”
“Which means?”
“En avant—that is the password. He will give you a fully saddled horse and tell you what road you are to take. In this way you will find four relays on your route. If you will give your Paris address at each relay, the four horses will follow you there. You know two of them already and, as a lover of horseflesh, you seem to have appreciated them; you saw how they brought us from Windsor. You may take my word for it that the two others are just as good. These horses are equipped for campaigning. Proud though you are, you will not refuse to accept one for yourself and one for each of your companions. Remember that they will serve you to make war against us. The end justifies the means, as you Frenchmen put it, does it not?”
“Yes, Milord, I accept with pleasure!” D’Artagnan bowed low. “Please God, we shall make good use of your gift.”
“Now your hand, young man. Perhaps we shall meet soon on the field of battle. Meanwhile, we part good friends, I trust.”
“Ay, Milord, but with the hope of soon becoming enemies.”
“Have no fear on that score, I promise you that.”
“I count on your word, Milord!”
D’Artagnan bowed again and hastened to the port.
Opposite the Tower of London, he found the Sund and gave the Captain his letter; the Captain had it certified by the Governor of the Port and they set sail at once.
Fifty vessels were waiting to set out as soon as the prohibition was lifted. As the Sund passed close alongside one of them, D’Artagnan fancied he saw a familiar figure—the woman of Meung, the woman whom the stranger had called Milady and whom our Gascon had thought so beautiful. But thanks to the swift tide and to the brisk wind the Sund passed so quickly that he caught little more than a glimpse of her.
Next day at about nine o’clock he landed at Saint-Valéry and immediately looked for the inn Buckingham had mentioned. He easily identified it by the riotous noise within; already there was excited talk of speedy and certain war between England and France, and the happy sailors were carousing to celebrate it.
D’Artagnan made his way through the crowd, found the host and whispered: Forward! The host immediately motioned to him to follow, went out by a door leading to the yard, advanced to the stable where a horse, ready-saddled, awaited, and asked D’Artagnan if he needed anything else.
“I want to know the route I am to take.”
“Go from here to Blangy and from Blangy to Neufchâtel. At Neufchâtel, at the Sign of the Golden Harrow, give the innkeeper the password and you will find a horse, ready-saddled, just as you did here.”
“What do I owe you?”
“Everything is paid for, Monsieur, and handsomely, too,” the host said importantly. “Be off then and God speed you!”
“Amen,” breathed D’Artagnan, setting off at full gallop.
Four hours later he was at Neufchâtel. Faithfully he followed the instructions he had received; at Neufchâtel, as at Saint-Valéry, he found a fully saddled mount waiting for him. He was about to transfer the pistols from one saddle to another when he noticed that his new mount was already furnished with similar ones.
“Your address in Paris?”
“Hôtel des Gardes, Monsieur des Essarts, Commanding Officer.”
“Good.”
“What route am I to take?”
“The Rouen road, but do not go through the city; skirt it on your right. At the hamlet of Ecouis, you will find an inn—the only one—The Sign of the French Arms. Don’t judge it by appearances; you will find a horse as good as this one in the stables.”
“Same password?”
“Exactly.”
“Good-bye, host.”
“Farewell, Monsieur. Do you need anything?”
D’Artagnan shook his head, waved his hand and made off at ful
l speed. At Ecouis the same scene was repeated: a host equally obliging … a fresh fully equipped horse … a request for his Paris address … a statement of the same … a wave of the hand and a cloud of dust as he galloped off toward Pontoise.…
Here he changed horses for the last time and at nine o’clock galloped into the courtyard of the Hôtel de Tréville. He had covered nearly sixty leagues—in twelve hours.
Monsieur de Tréville received him as if he had seen him that very morning. But, on shaking his hand a little more warmly than usual, he told him that Monsieur des Essart’s company was on guard duty at the Louvre that night and that he might repair at once to his post.
XXII
IN WHICH THEIR MAJESTIES DANCE LA MERLAISON, A FAVORITE BALLET OF THE KING’S
On the morrow all Paris was agog with talk of the ball which the City Aldermen were to give in honor of the King and Queen. Their Majesties were to dance the famous La Merlaison, the King’s favorite ballet.
For the past week feverish preparations for this important occasion had made the Hôtel de Ville hum with activity. The city carpenters erected scaffolds to seat the ladies invited … the city grocer had furnished the reception rooms with two hundred white waxen torches, a piece of luxury unheard of at that period … no fewer than twenty violinists were to play, at double their usual wage on condition, rumor said, that they played the night through.…
At ten o’clock in the morning the Sieur de La Coste, Ensign in the King’s Guards, followed by two officers and several archers of the Corps of Guards, called upon the City Registrar, Clément, to demand the keys of all doors, rooms and offices in the building. These keys were handed over to him instantly; each bore a label to identify it. From that moment Monsieur de La Coste, as supreme Security Officer, was charged with guarding every inch of the premises.
At eleven o’clock Captain du Hallier, of the guards, appeared with fifty archers who immediately took up their stations at the posts assigned them in the Hôtel de Ville.
At three o’clock, two companies of guards reported, one French, the other Swiss. The French company was composed half of Monsieur du Hallier’s men, half of men under Monsieur des Essarts.
At six in the evening the guests began to arrive. Fast as they entered, they were ushered to their seats on the scaffolding in the great hall.
At nine o’clock Madame la Première Présidente, wife of the Chief Magistrate, swept into the City Hall. Next to the Queen she was the most important personage of the fête. She was received by the notables of the city and shown to a loge immediately opposite the one the Queen was to occupy.
At ten o’clock, the King’s collation, consisting of preserves, confitures and other sweetmeats, was prepared in the little chamber facing the church of Saint-Jean and placed in front of the silver service of the City, which was guarded by four archers.
At midnight loud cries and vociferous cheers rose from the street, marking the King’s progress as he passed through the city from the Louvre to the Hôtel de Ville along thoroughfares illumined with colored lanterns.
Aldermen and City Councilors, wearing their broadcloth robes and preceded by six sergeants, each of whom bore a torch, advanced to attend upon the King. Meeting His Majesty on the steps, they stopped while the Provost of the Merchants made the official compliment of welcome. His Majesty replied by excusing himself for his late arrival, blaming it on Monsieur le Cardinal who had detained him until eleven o’clock to discuss matters of State.
His Majesty, in full dress, was accompanied by His Royal Highness, Monsieur Duc d’Orléans and brother to the King, by the Comte de Soissons, who was later to attempt to assassinate Richelieu, by the Grand Prior, in all the splendor of his ecclesiastical robes, by the Duc de Longueville, a third-rate politician, governor of Normandy, by the Duc d’Elboeuf, the husband of a legitimized daughter of Henry IV, by the Comte d’Harcourt, d’Elboeuf’s son, by the Comte de La Roche-Guyon, descendant of a heroine of the Hundred Years’ War, by Monsieur de Liancourt, a profligate redeemed by his young wife, by the Comte de Cramail, author and wit who was to be imprisoned by Richelieu for twelve years, by Monsieur de Baradas and by the Chevalier de Souveray.
No one in the crowd failed to notice that the King looked glum and preoccupied.
A dressing-room had been prepared for the King and another for Monsieur, with masquerade dress in each; the same had been done for the Queen and Madame la Première Présidente. The nobles and ladies of Their Majesties’ suites were to dress two by two in chambers prepared for the purpose. Before entering his dressing-room, the King left orders to be notified as soon as the Cardinal arrived.
Half an hour later loud cheers were heard, proclaiming the Queen’s arrival; aldermen and councilors, as before, followed the sergeants to the steps of the City Hall where they repeated the ceremony of welcome.
The Queen entered the great hall. To the public she too, like the King, looked sad and, above all, fatigued. Just as she arrived the curtains of a small gallery, which had until then remained closed, were suddenly parted to reveal, for an instant, the pale face of the Cardinal. His eyes, piercing bright, were fastened upon those of the Queen; and as he noted that she was not wearing the diamond studs, a smile of fierce, cruel joy passed over his lips. The Queen lingered a while to receive the compliments of the city gentlemen and to reply to the salutations of their ladies.
Suddenly the King appeared at one of the doors of the hall with the Cardinal. His Majesty wore no masquerade and the ribbons of his doublet were scarcely tied; His Eminence was dressed as a Spanish Cavalier. The Cardinal was speaking in a low voice and the King, listening, was pale as wax. His Majesty made his way through the crowd, bowed to the Queen and, in a broken voice, said:
“Well, Madame, pray why are you not wearing your diamond studs? Did I not tell you how pleased I should be to see how they become you?”
The Queen, looking around her, descried the Cardinal in the background, smiling diabolically.
“Sire,” she replied, in faltering tones, “I feared something might happen to them in such a throng.”
“There you were wrong, Madame! If I presented them to you it was because I wished you to wear them. I repeat, you were quite wrong, Madame.”
The King’s voice trembled with anger, the bystanders wide-eyed and completely bewildered, stood aside, wondering what could be the matter.
“I can easily send for them, Sire,” the Queen offered. “They are at the Louvre; within a few minutes Your Majesty’s wishes will be fulfilled.”
“Pray do so, Madame, pray do so as quickly as possible. The ballet is to begin within an hour.”
Curtseying, the Queen followed the ladies who were to conduct her to her dressing-room. The King returned to his.
There was a buzz of chatter. Surprise and confusion filled the hall; everyone had noticed that something was awry between King and Queen, but both had spoken so low that the bystanders had discreetly stepped aside. Thus no one had overheard anything. The violins began to play at their loudest but nobody listened.
The King was the first to emerge from his dressing-room, clad in a hunting costume of great elegance; this type of dress became him best and now he really looked like the first gentleman of his kingdom. He was followed by Monsieur and the other nobles, similarly apparelled.
The Cardinal drew near the King and handed him a tiny casket; opening it, the King found two diamond studs.
“What does this mean?” he asked in astonishment.
“Nothing, Sire! But if the Queen wears her studs—which I very much doubt—I beg you to count them. Should you find that the Queen wears but ten, Sire, pray ask Her Majesty who could have stolen the two that are here?”
The King looked blankly at the Cardinal and was about to ask him something when suddenly a cry of admiration rose up on all sides. It was the Queen, making her entrance. If His Majesty appeared to be the first gentleman of the realm, the Queen was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman in all France. The habit of a huntres
s suited her marvelously well, setting off her figure to excellent advantage. She wore a beaver hat with blue feathers, a tight-waisted jacket of pearl-gray velvet fastened with diamond clasps, and a skirt of blue satin embroidered with silver. On her left shoulder sparkled the diamond studs, on a bow of the same color as her plumes and her skirt.
The King trembled with joy, the Cardinal with anger, but they were still too far from the Queen to count the studs. Her Majesty was wearing them, to be sure, but were there ten or twelve?
At that moment the violins gave the signal for the ball to open. The King advanced toward Madame la Première Présidente, who was to be his partner; His Royal Highness Monsieur advanced toward the Queen. They took their places and the ballet began. His Majesty figured opposite the Queen and every time he passed her he devoured those studs with his eyes but could never pause long enough to count them. A cold sweat glistened on the Cardinal’s brow as he watched. The ballet, which had sixteen figures, lasted a full hour.
When it was finished, amid enthusiastic applause, each gentleman led his lady back to her place; but the King, availing himself of his privilege to leave his lady where she stood, advanced eagerly toward the Queen.
“I thank you, Madame, for deferring to my wishes,” he said graciously, “but I believe two of your studs are missing, I am bringing them back to you.”
Whereupon he handed the Queen the two studs the Cardinal had given to him.
“What, Sire!” cried the Queen, feigning surprise, “you are giving me two more! Then I shall have fourteen in all!”
The King, at last in a position to count, could scarcely believe his eyes. Turning aside sulkily, he summoned the Cardinal and, sternly:
“Well, Monsieur le Cardinal,” he asked, “what does this mean?”
“It means, Sire, that I wished to present Her Majesty with those two studs but, not venturing to present them myself, I adopted this means of doing so.”
The Queen flashed him a smile which for all its brilliant graciousness yet proved that she was not duped by this ingenious piece of gallantry.
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