“Monday next.”
“Monday next! Still five days before us. That’s more time than we want. Patrick!” cried the duke, opening the door of the chapel, “Patrick!” His confidential valet appeared.
“My jeweler and my secretary.”
The valet went out with a mute promptitude which showed him accustomed to obey blindly and without reply.
But although the jeweler had been mentioned first, it was the secretary who first made his appearance. This was simply because he lived in the hotel. He found Buckingham seated at a table in his bedchamber, writing orders with his own hand.
“Mr. Jackson,” said he, “go instantly to the Lord Chancellor, and tell him that I charge him with the execution of these orders. I wish them to be promulgated immediately.”
“But, my Lord, if the Lord Chancellor interrogates me upon the motives which may have led your Grace to adopt such an extraordinary measure, what shall I reply?”
“That such is my pleasure, and that I answer for my will to no man.”
“Will that be the answer,” replied the secretary, smiling, “which he must transmit to his Majesty if, by chance, his Majesty should have the curiosity to know why no vessel is to leave any of the ports of Great Britain?”
“You are right, Mr. Jackson,” replied Buckingham. “He will say, in that case, to the king that I am determined on war, and that this measure is my first act of hostility against France.”
The secretary bowed and retired.
“We are safe on that side,” said Buckingham, turning toward d’Artagnan. “If the studs are not yet gone to Paris, they will not arrive till after you.”
“How so?”
“I have just placed an embargo on all vessels at present in his Majesty’s ports, and without particular permission, not one dare lift an anchor.”
D’Artagnan looked with stupefaction at a man who thus employed the unlimited power with which he was clothed by the confidence of a king in the prosecution of his intrigues. Buckingham saw by the expression of the young man’s face what was passing in his mind, and he smiled.
“Yes,” said he, “yes, Anne of Austria is my true queen. Upon a word from her, I would betray my country, I would betray my king, I would betray my God. She asked me not to send the Protestants of La Rochelle the assistance I promised them; I have not done so. I broke my word, it is true; but what signifies that? I obeyed my love; and have I not been richly paid for that obedience? It was to that obedience I owe her portrait.”
D’Artagnan was amazed to note by what fragile and unknown threads the destinies of nations and the lives of men are suspended. He was lost in these reflections when the goldsmith entered. He was an Irishman–one of the most skillful of his craft, and who himself confessed that he gained a hundred thousand livres a year by the Duke of Buckingham.
“Mr. O’Reilly,” said the duke, leading him into the chapel, “look at these diamond studs, and tell me what they are worth apiece.”
The goldsmith cast a glance at the elegant manner in which they were set, calculated, one with another, what the diamonds were worth, and without hesitation said, “Fifteen hundred pistoles each, my Lord.”
“How many days would it require to make two studs exactly like them? You see there are two wanting.”
“Eight days, my Lord.”
“I will give you three thousand pistoles apiece if I can have them by the day after tomorrow.”
“My Lord, they shall be yours.”
“You are a jewel of a man, Mr. O’Reilly; but that is not all. These studs cannot be trusted to anybody; it must be done in the palace.”
“Impossible, my Lord! There is no one but myself can so execute them that one cannot tell the new from the old.”
“Therefore, my dear Mr. O’Reilly, you are my prisoner. And if you wish ever to leave my palace, you cannot; so make the best of it. Name to me such of your workmen as you need, and point out the tools they must bring.”
The goldsmith knew the duke. He knew all objection would be useless, and instantly determined how to act.