He leaped with Planchet into the boat. Five minutes after they were on board.
D’Artagnan did not know London, he did not know one word of English, but he wrote the name of Buckingham on a piece of paper, and every one to whom he showed it pointed out to him the way to the duke’s palace.
The duke was at Windsor hunting with the king.
D’Artagnan inquired for the duke’s confidential valet, who, having accompanied him in all his travels, spoke French perfectly well. He told him that he came from Paris on an affair of life and death, and that he must speak with his master instantly.
The confidence with which D’Artagnan spoke convinced Patrick, which was the name of the minister’s minister. He ordered two horses to be saddled, and himself went as the young guardsman’s guide. As for Planchet, he had been lifted from his horse as stiff as a stake. The poor lad’s strength was exhausted. D’Artagnan seemed to be made of iron.
On their arrival at the castle they inquired for the duke, and learned that he was hawking with the king in the marshes, two or three leagues away.
In twenty minutes they were at the place designated. Patrick soon caught the sound of his master’s voice recalling his falcon.
“Whom shall I announce to my Lord Duke?” asked Patrick.
“The young man who one evening sought a quarrel with him on the Pont Neuf, opposite the Samaritaine.”
“Rather a singular introduction!”
“You will find that it is as good as any other.”
Patrick galloped off, reached the duke, and announced to him in these very words that a messenger awaited him.
Buckingham at once remembered the circumstance, and suspecting that something was going on in France, concerning which news was now brought to him, he took only the time to inquire where the messenger was, and recognizing at a distance the uniform of the guards, he put his horse into a gallop, and rode straight up to D’Artagnan. Patrick discreetly kept in the background.
“Has any misfortune happened to the queen?” cried Buckingham, throwing all his fear and love into the question.
“I believe not. Nevertheless, I believe she is in some great peril from which your Grace alone can extricate her.”
“I!” cried Buckingham. “What is it? I should be but too happy to render her any service. Speak! speak!”
“Take this letter,” said D’Artagnan.
“This letter! From whom does this letter come?”
“From her Majesty, as I think.”
“From her Majesty!” said Buckingham, becoming so pale that D’Artagnan feared he was going to be ill; and he broke the seal.