 Chapter 102 of the D'Artagnan Romance's Vol. 3 Part I by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson, this Lebovox recording is in the public domain. Madame de Belieure's Plate Leblot had been more the painful on account of its being unexpected. It was some time before the Marquis recovered herself, but, once recovered, she began to reflect upon the events so heartlessly announced to her. She therefore returned at the risk even of losing her life in the way to that train of ideas which her relentless friend had forced her to pursue. Treason! Then, deep menacist concealed under the semblance of public interest, such were Colbert's maneuvers, a detestable delight at an approaching downfall, untiring efforts to obtain this object, means of seduction no less wicked than the crime itself, such were the weapons Marguerite employed, the crooked atoms of Descartes triumphant, to the man without compassion, was united a woman without heart. The Marquis perceived with sorrow rather than indignation that the king was an accomplice in the plot which betrayed the duplicity of Louis XIII in his advanced age and the avarice of Mazarin at a period of life when he had not had the opportunity of gorging himself with French gold. The spirit of this courageous woman soon resumed its energy, no longer overwhelmed by indulgence and compassionate lamentations. The Marquis was not one to weep when action was necessary, nor to waste time in bewailing a misfortune as long as means still existed of relieving it. For some minutes she buried her face in her cold fingers, and then raising her head rang for her attendance with a steady hand and with a gesture betraying a fixed determination of purpose. Her resolution was taken. Is everything prepared for my departure? She inquired of one of her female attendants who entered. Yes, madame, but it was not expected that your ladyship would leave for Belia for the next few days. All my jewels and articles of value, then, are packed up. Yes, madame, but hither too we have been in the habit of leaving them in Paris. Your ladyship does not generally take your jewels with you into the country. But they are all in order, you say. Yes, in your ladyship's own room. The gold plate, in the chest, and the silver plate, in the great oak closet. The Marquis remained silent for a few moments and then said calmly, Let my goldsmith be sent for. Her attendants quitted the room to execute the order. The Marquis, however, had entered her own room and was inspecting her casket of jewels at the greatest attention. Never until now had she bestowed such close attention upon riches in which women take so much pride. Never until now had she looked at her jewels except for the purpose of making a selection, according to their settings or their colors. On this occasion, however, she admired the size of the rubies and the brilliancy of the diamonds. She grieved over every blemish and every defect. She thought the gold light and the stones wretched. The goldsmith, as he entered, found her thus occupied. Monsieur Feshaw, she said, I believe you supplied me with my gold surface. I did, your ladyship. I do not now remember the amount of the account. Of the new service, madame, or of that which Monsieur de Belieur presented to you on your marriage, for I have furnished both. First of all, the new one. The covers, the goblets, and the dishes. With their covers, the o-epan, the ice-pales, the dishes for the preserves, and the tea and coffee-earns cost your ladyship sixty thousand francs. No more. Your ladyship thought the account very high. Yes, yes. I remember, in fact, that it was dear, but it was the workmanship, I suppose. Yes, madame, the designs, the chasings, all new patterns. What proportion of the cost does the workmanship form? Do not hesitate to tell me. A third of its value, madame. There is the other service, the old one, that which belonged to my husband. Yes, madame, there is less workmanship in that than in the other. Its intrinsic value does not exceed thirty thousand francs. Thirty thousand? murmured the marquis. But, monsieur Fachaud, there is also the service which belonged to my mother. All that massive plate which I did not wish to part with, on account of the associations connected with it. Ha! madame, that would indeed be an excellent resource for those who, unlike your ladyship, might not be in a position to keep their plate. In chasing that, they worked in solid metal, but that service is no longer in fashion. Its weight is its only advantage. That is all I care about. How much does it weigh? Fifty thousand leavers, at the very least. I do not allude to the enormous vases for the buffet, which alone weigh five thousand leavers, or ten thousand, the pair. One hundred and thirty. murmured the marquis. You are quite sure of your figures, monsieur Fachaud. Positive, madame. Besides, there is no difficulty in weighing them. The amount is entered in my books. Your ladyship is extremely methodical, I am aware. Let us now turn to another subject, said madame de Belière, and she opened one of her jewel boxes. I recognize these emeralds, said monsieur Fachaud, for it was I who had the setting of them. They are the most beautiful in the whole court. No, I am mistaken. Madame de Châtillon has the most beautiful set. She had them from the seers to guise, but your set, madame, comes next. What are they worth? Mounted? No, supposing I wish to sell them. I know very well who would buy them, exclaimed monsieur Fachaud. That is the very thing I ask. They could be sold then. All your jewels could be sold, madame. It is well known that you possess the most beautiful jewels in Paris. You are not changeable in your taste. When you make a purchase, it is of the very best. And what you purchase, you do not part with. What could these emeralds be sold for then? A hundred and thirty thousand francs. The marquis wrote down upon her tablets the amount which the jeweler mentioned. The ruby necklace? She said. Are they Bala rubies, madame? Here they are. They are beautiful, magnificent. I did not know that your ladieship had these stones. What is their value? Two hundred thousand francs. The centre one is alone worth a hundred thousand. I thought so, said the marquis. As for the diamonds, I have them in numbers. Rings, necklaces, sprigs, earrings, clasps. Tell me their value, monsieur Fachaud. The jeweler took his magnifying glass and scales, weighed and inspected them, and silently made his calculations. These stones, he said, must have cost your ladieship an income of forty thousand francs. You value them at eight hundred thousand francs? Nearly so. It is about what I imagined, but the settings are not included. No, madame, but if I were called upon to sell or to buy, I should be satisfied with the gold of the settings alone, as my profit upon the transaction I should make a good twenty-five thousand francs. An agreeable sum. Very much so, madame. Will you accept that profit, then, on condition of converting the jewels into money? But you do not intend to sell your diamonds, I suppose, madame? exclaimed the bewildered jeweler. Silence, monsieur Fachaud. Do not disturb yourself about that. Give me an answer simply. You are an honourable man, with whom my family has dealt for thirty years. You knew my father and mother, whom your own father and mother served. I address you as a friend. Will you accept the gold of the settings and return for a sum of ready money to be placed in my hands? Eight hundred thousand francs! It is enormous. I know it. Impossible to find. Not so. But reflect, madame, upon the effect which will be produced at the sale of your jewels. No one need know of it. You can get sets of false jewels made for me, similar to the real. Do not answer a word. I insist upon it. Sell them separately. Sell the stones only. In that way it is easy. Monsieur is looking out for some sets of jewels, as well as a single stone for madame's toilets. There will be a competition for them. I can easily dispose of six hundred thousand francs worth to monsieur. I am certain yours are the most beautiful. When can you do so? In less than three days time. Very well. The remainder you will dispose of among private individuals. For the present make me out a contract of sale, payment to be made in four days. I entreat you to reflect, madame, for if you force the sale, you will lose a hundred thousand francs. If necessary, I will lose two hundred. I wish everything to be settled this evening. Do you accept? I do, your ladyship. I will not conceal from you that I shall make fifty thousand francs by the transaction. So much the better for you. In what way shall I have the money? Either in gold, or in bills of the bank of Leon, payable at monsieur Colbert's. I agree, said the Marquis, eagerly. Return home, and bring this sum in question in notes, as soon as possible. Yes, madame, but for heaven's sake! Not a word, monsieur Fachaud. By the by, I was forgetting the silver plate. What is the value of that which I have? Fifty thousand francs, madame. That makes a million, said the Marquis to herself. Monsieur Fachaud, you will take away with you both this gold and silver plate. I can assign as a pretext that I wish it remottled on patterns, more in accordance with my own taste. Melt it down, and return me its value and money at once. It shall be done, your ladyship. You will be good enough to place the money in a chest, and direct one of your clerks to accompany the chest, and, without my servant seeing him, and order him to wait for me in a carriage. In madame Fachaud's carriage, said the jeweller, if you will allow it, and I will call for it at your house. Certainly, your ladyship. I will direct some of my servants to convey the plate to your house. The Marquis rung. Let the small van be placed at Monsieur Fachaud's disposal. She said. The jeweller bowed and left the house, directing that the van should follow him closely, saying aloud that the Marquis was about to have her plate melted down in order to have other plate manufactured of a more modern style. Three hours afterwards she went to Monsieur Fachaud's house, and received from him eight hundred thousand francs in gold enclosed in a chest which one of the clerks could hardly carry towards madame Fachaud's carriage. For madame Fachaud kept her carriage. As the daughter of a president of accounts, she had brought a marriage portion of thirty thousand crowns to her husband, who was syndic of the goldsmiths. These thirty thousand crowns had become very fruitful during twenty years. The jeweller, though a millionaire, was a modest man. He had purchased a substantial carriage built in sixteen forty-eight, ten years after the king's birth. This carriage, rather house upon wheels, excited the admiration of the whole quarter in which he resided. It was covered with allegorical paintings and clouds scattered over with stars. The Marquis entered this somewhat extraordinary vehicle, sitting opposite the clerk who endeavored to put his knees out of the way, afraid even of touching the Marquis's dress. It was the clerk, too, who told the coachman, who was very proud of having a Marquis to drive, to take the road to St. Mond. CHAPTER 103 OF THE DARTANIAN ROMANCES volume three part one by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson. This leap of box recording is in the public domain. THE DOWRY Monsieur Fachaud's horses were serviceable animals, with thick-set knees and legs that had some difficulty in moving. Like the carriage, they belonged to the earlier part of the century, and they were not as fleet as the English horses of Monsieur Fouquet, and consequently took two hours to get to St. Mond. Their progress, it might be said, was majestic. Majesty, however, precludes hurry. The Marquis stopped the carriage at the door so well known to her, although she had seen it only once under circumstances it will be remembered, no less painful than those which brought her now to it again. She drew a key from her pocket and inserted it in the lock, pushed open the door which noiselessly yielded to her touch, and directed the clerk to carry the chest upstairs to the first floor. The weight of the chest was so great that the clerk was obliged to get the coachman to assist him with it. They placed it in a small cabinet, anti-room or boudoir, rather, adjoining the saloon where we once saw Monsieur Fouquet at the Marquis's feet. Madame de Beliaire gave the coachman a louis, smiled gracefully at the clerk and dismissed them both. She closed the door after them and waited in the room, alone and barricaded. There was no servant to be seen about the rooms, but everything was prepared as though some invisible genius had divined the wishes and desires of an expected guest. The fire was laid, candles in the candelabra, refreshments upon the table, books scattered about, fresh-cut flowers in the vases. One might almost have imagined it an enchanted house. The Marquis alighted the candles, inhaled the perfume of the flowers, sat down and was soon plunged in profound thought. Her deep musings, melancholy though they were, were not untinged with a certain vague joy. Spread out before her was a treasure, a million rung from her fortune as a gleener plucks the blue cornflower from her crown of flowers. She conjured up the Swedish dreams. Her principal thought, and one that took precedent of all others, was to devise means of leaving this money for Monsieur Fouquet without his possibly learning from whom the gifts would come. This idea, naturally enough, was the first to present itself to her mind. But although, on reflection, it appeared difficult to carry out, she did not despair of success. She would then ring to summon Monsieur Fouquet and make her escape, happier than if, instead of having given a million, she had herself found one. But being there and having seen the boudoir so coquettishly decorated that it might almost be said the least particle of dust had but the moment before been removed by the servants, having observed the drawing-room so perfectly arranged that it might almost be said her presence there had driven away the fairies who were its occupants, she asked herself if the glance or gaze of those whom she had displaced, whether spirits, fairies, elves or human creatures, had not already recognized her. To secure success it was necessary that some steps should be seriously taken, and it was necessary also that the superintendent should comprehend the serious position in which she was placed in order to yield compliance with the generous fancies of a woman, all the fascinations of an eloquent friendship would be required to persuade him, and should this be insufficient, the maddening influence of a devoted passion which, in its resolute determination to carry conviction, would not be turned aside. Was not the superintendent, indeed, known for his delicacy and dignity of feeling, would he allow himself to accept from any woman that of which she had stripped herself? No. He would resist, and if any voice in the world could overcome his resistance, it would be the voice of the woman he loved. Another doubt and that accrual one suggested itself to Madame de Belliere with a sharp, acute pain like a dagger thrust. Did he really love her? Would that volatile mind, that inconstant heart be likely to be fixed for a moment even, were it to gaze upon an angel? Was it not the same with Fouquet, notwithstanding his genius and his uprightness of conduct, as with those conquerors on the field of battle who shed tears when they have gained a victory? I must learn if it be so, and must judge of that for myself," said the Marquis. Who can tell whether that heart so coveted is not common in its impulses in full of alloy? Who can tell if that mind, when the touchstone is applied to it, will not be found of a mean and vulgar character? Come, come," she said. This is doubting and hesitating too much to the proof. She looked at the timepiece. It is now seven o'clock," she said. He must have arrived. It is the hour for signing his papers. With a feverish impatient she rose and walked with a mirror in which she smiled with a resolute smile of devotedness. She touched the spring and drew out the handle of the bell. Then, as if exhausted beforehand by the struggle she had just undergone, she threw herself on her knees in utter abandonment before a large couch, in which she buried her face in her trembling hands. Ten minutes afterwards she heard the spring of the door sound. The door moved upon invisible hinges and Fouquet appeared. He looked pale and seemed bowed down by the weight of some bitter reflection. He did not hurry, but simply came at the summons. The preoccupation of his mind must indeed have been very great that a man so devoted to pleasure—for whom indeed pleasure meant everything—should obey such a summons so listlessly. The previous night, in fact, fertile and melancholy ideas had sharpened his features, generally so noble in their indifference of expression, and had traced dark lines of anxiety around his eyes. Handsome and noble he still was, and the melancholy expression of his mouth—rare expression with men—gave a new character to his features by which his youth seemed to be renewed. Dressed in black, the lace in front of his chest much disarranged by his feverishly restless hand, the looks of the superintendent full of dreamy reflection, were fixed upon the threshold of the room which he had so frequently approached in search of expected happiness. This gloomy gentleness of manner, this smiling sadness of expression which had replaced his former excess of joy, produced an indescribable effect upon Madame de Belliere, who was regarding him at a distance. A woman's eye can read the face of a man she loves. It's every feeling of pride. It's every expression of suffering. It might almost be said that heaven has graciously granted to women on account of their very weakness, more than it has accorded to other creatures. They can conceal their own feelings from a man, but from them no man can conceal his. The marquis, devined in a single glance the whole weight of the unhappiness of the superintendent, she divide a night past without sleep, a day passed in deceptions. From that moment she was firm in her own strength and she felt that she loved Fouquet beyond everything else. She arose and approached him, saying, You wrote to me this morning to say you were beginning to forget me, and the die, whom you had not seen lately, had no doubt ceased to think of you. I have come to undeceive you, monsieur, and the more completely so because there is one thing I can read in your eyes. What is that, madame? said Fouquet astonished. That you have never loved me so much as at this moment. In the same manner you can read in my present step toward you, that I have not forgotten you. Oh, madame! said Fouquet, whose face was for a moment lighted up by a sudden gleam of joy. You are indeed an angel, and no man can suspect you. All he can do is to humble himself before you and entreat forgiveness. Your forgiveness is granted, then, said the marquis. Fouquet was about to throw himself upon his knees. No, no, she said, Sit here by my side. That is an evil thought which has just crossed your mind. How do you detect it, madame? By the smile that has just marred the expression of your countenance, be candid and tell me what your thought was, no secrets between friends. Tell me, then, madame, why have you been so harsh these three or four months past? Harsh? Yes. Did you not forbid me to visit you? Alas, said madame de Bellier sighing, because your visit to me was the cause of your being visited with a greatness fortune. Because my house is watched, because the same eyes that have seen you already might see you again. Because I think it less dangerous for you that I should come here than that you should come to my house. And lastly, because I know you to be already unhappy enough not to wish to increase your unhappiness further. Fouquet started. For these words we called all the anxieties connected with his office of superintendent. He who, for the last few minutes, had indulged in all the wild aspirations of the lover. I? Unhappy. He said, endeavouring to smile. Indeed, Marquis, you will almost make me believe I am so, judging from your own sadness. Are your beautiful eyes raised upon me merely in pity? I was looking for another expression from them. It is not I who am sad, mister. Look in the mirror. There. It is your self. It is true I am somewhat pale, Marquis. But it is from overwork. The king yesterday required a supply of money from me. Yes. Four millions. I am aware of it. You know it. Exclaimed Fouquet in a tone of surprise. How can you have learnt it? It was after the departure of the queen, and in the presence of one person only, that the king— You perceive that I do know it. Is not that sufficient? Well, go on, monsieur. The money the king has required you to supply. You understand, Marquis, that I have been obliged to procure it, then to get it counted, afterwards registered, all together a long affair, since, monsieur de Maserine's death, financial affairs occasion some little fatigue and embarrassment. My administration is somewhat overtaxed, and this is the reason why I have not slept during the past night. So that you have the amount? Inquired the Marquis with some anxiety. It would indeed be strange, Marquis, replied Fouquet cheerfully, if a superintendent of finances were not to have a paltry for millions in his coffers. Yes. Yes, I believe you either have or will have them. What do you mean by saying I shall have them? It is not very long since you were required to furnish two millions. On the contrary, it seems to me almost in age, but do not let us talk of money matters any longer. On the contrary, we will continue to speak of them, for that is my only reason for coming to see you. I am at a loss to compass your meaning. Said the superintendent, whose eyes began to express an anxious curiosity. Tell me, monsieur, is the office of superintendent a permanent position? You surprise me, machinasse, for you speak as if you had some motive or interest in putting the question. My reason is simple enough. I am desirous of placing some money in your hands, and naturally I wish to know if you are certain of your post. Really, machice, I am at a loss. What to reply? I cannot conceive your meaning. Seriously, then, dear monsieur Fouquet, funds which somewhat embarrass me, I am tired of investing my money in land, and am anxious to entrust it to some friend who will turn it to account. Surely it does not press, said monsieur Fouquet. On the contrary, it is very pressing. Very well, we will talk of that by and by. By and by will not do, for my money is there. Return the marquise, pointing out the coffer to the superintendent, showing him as she opened it, the bundles of notes and heaps of gold. Fouquet, who had risen from his seat at the same moment as Madame de Belliere, remained for a moment plunged in thought, then suddenly starting back he turned pale and sank down in his chair, concealing his face and his hands. Madame, Madame, he murmured, What opinion can you have of me, when you make me such an offer? Of you? returned the marquise. Tell me, rather, what you yourself think of the step I have taken? You bring me this money for myself, and you bring it because you know me to be embarrassed. Nay, do not deny it, for I am sure of it. Can I not read your heart? If you know my heart, then, can you not see that it is my heart I offer you? I have guessed rightly, then, exclaimed Fouquet. In truth, Madame, I have never yet given you the right to insult me in this manner. Insult you? she said, turning pale. What singular delicacy of feeling! You tell me you love me, in the name of that affection you wish me to sacrifice my reputation and my honor. Yet, when I offer you money which is my own, you refuse me. Madame, you are in liberty to preserve what you term your reputation and your honor. Permit me to preserve mine. Leave me to my ruin. Leave me to sink beneath the weight of the hatreds which surround me. Beneath the faults I have committed, beneath the load even of my remorse. But, for heaven's sake, Madame, do not overwhelm me with this last inflection. A short time since, Mr. Fouquet, you were wanting in judgment. Now you are wanting in feeling. Fouquet pressed his clenched hand upon his breast, heaving with emotion, saying, Overwhelm me, Madame, for I have nothing to reply. I offered you my friendship, Mr. Fouquet. Yes, Madame, and you limited yourself to that. And what I am now doing is the act of a friend. No doubt it is. And you reject this mark of my friendship? I do reject it. Mr. Fouquet, look at me. Said the Marquis with glistening eyes. I now offer you my love. Oh, Madame, exclaimed Fouquet, I have loved you for a long while past. Women like men have a false delicacy at times. For a long time past I have loved you, but would not confess it. Well, then, you have implored this love on your knees, and I have refused you. I was blind as you were a little while since. But, as it was my love that you sought, it is now my love I offer you. Oh, Madame, you overwhelmed me beneath a load of happiness. Will you be happy, then, if I am yours entirely? It will be the supremous happiness for me. Take me, then, if, however, for your sake I sacrifice a prejudice, do you for mine sacrifice a scruple? Do not tempt me. Do not refuse me. Think seriously of what you are proposing. Fouquet, but one word, let it be no, and I open this door. And she pointed to the door which led into the streets. And you will never see me again. Let that word be yes, and I am entirely yours. Elsie, Elsie, but this coffer contains my dowry. It is your ruin, exclaimed Fouquet, turning over the golden papers. There must be a million here. Yes, my jewels, for which I care no longer if you do not love me, and for which equally I care no longer if you love me as I love you. This is too much, exclaimed Fouquet. I yield, I yield, even were it only to consecrate so much defotion. I accept the dowry. And take the woman with it, said the Marquis, throwing herself into his arms. End of Chapter 103, Recording by John Van Stans of Anna, Georgia. Chapter 104 of the D'Artagnan Romances, Volume 3, Part 1 by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson, this Librivox recording is in the public domain. Le Terrain de Dieu During the progress of these events, Buckingham and De Ward traveled in excellent companionship and made the journey from Paris to Calais in undisturbed harmony together. Buckingham had hurried his departure so that the greater part of his de Dieu were very hastily made. His visit to Monsieur and Madame, to the young Queen, and to the Queen Dowager, had been paid collectively a precaution on the part of the Queen Mother which saved him the distress of any private conversation with Monsieur and also the danger of seeing Madame again. The carriages containing the luggage had already been sent on beforehand, and in the evening he set off in his travelling carriage with his attendants. De Ward, irritated at finding himself dragged away in so abrupt a manner by this Englishman, had sought in his subtle mind for some means of escaping from his fetters, but no one having rendered him any assistance in this respect, he was absolutely obliged, therefore, to submit to the burden of his own evil thoughts and caustic spirit. Such of his friends, in whom he had been able to confide, had in their character of wits rallied him upon the Duke's superiority. Others, less brilliant but more sensible, had reminded him of the King's orders prohibiting dueling. Others, again, and they, the larger number who in virtue of charity or national vanity, might have rendered him assistance did not care to run the risk of incurring disgrace, and would at the best have informed the ministers of a departure which might end in a massacre on a small scale. The result was that, after having fully deliberated upon the matter, De Ward packed up his luggage, took a couple of horses in, followed only by one servant, made his way toward the barrier, where Buckingham's carriage was to await him. The Duke received his adversary as he would have done an intimate acquaintance, made room beside him on the same seat with himself, offered him refreshments, and spread over his knees the sable cloak that had been thrown on the front seat. They then conversed of the court without alluding to Madame, of Nassir without speaking of domestic affairs, of the King without speaking of his brother's wife, of the Queen Mother, without alluding to her daughter-in-law, of the King of England without alluding to his sister-in-law, of the state of the affections of either of the travellers without pronouncing any name that might be dangerous. In this way the journey which was performed by short stages was most agreeable, and Buckingham, almost a Frenchman from wit and education, was delighted at having so admirably selected his travelling companion. Elegant repass were served of which they partook but lightly, trials of horses made in the beautiful meadows that skirted the road, coursing and dodged in, for Buckingham had his greyhounds with him, and in such ways that they pass away the pleasant time. The Duke somewhat resembled the beautiful River Zenne, which folds France a thousand times in its loving embrace before deciding upon joining its waters with the ocean. In quitting France, it was her recently adopted daughter he had brought to Paris whom he chiefly regretted, as every thought was a remembrance of her, as every memory a regret. Therefore, whenever now and then, despite his command over himself, he was lost in thought. De Ward left him entirely to his musings. This delicacy might have touched Buckingham and changed his feelings toward De Ward, if the latter, while preserving silence, hadn't shown a glance less full of malice, and a smile less false. Instinctive dislikes, however, are relentless. Nothing appeases them. A few ashes may sometimes apparently extinguish them, but, beneath those ashes, the smothered embers rage more furiously. Having exhausted every means of amusement the route offered, they arrived, as we have said, at Calais toward the end of the sixth day. The Duke's attendance since the previous evening had travelled in advance and now chartered a boat for the purpose of joining the yacht, which had been tacking about in sight, or more broadside on, whenever it felt its white wings wearied, within cannon shot of the jetty. The boat was destined for the transport of the Duke's equipages from the shore to the yacht. The horses had been embarked, having been hoisted from the boat upon the deck in baskets expressly made for the purpose, and waited in such a manner that their limbs, even in the most violent fits of terror or impatience, were always protected by the soft support which the sides afforded, and their coats not even turned. Eight of these baskets placed side by side, filled the ship's hold, it is well known that in short voyages horses refuse to eat, but remain trembling all the while while the best of food before them, such as they would have greatly coveted on land. By degrees the Duke's entire equipage was transported on board the yacht. He was then informed that everything was in readiness, and that they only waited for him, whenever he would be disposed to embark with the French gentleman, for no one could possibly imagine that the French gentleman would have any other accounts to settle with his grace than those of friendship. Buckingham desired the captain to be told to hold himself in readiness, but that, as the sea was beautiful and as the day promised a splendid sunset, he did not intend to go on board until nightfall, and would avail himself of the evening to enjoy a walk on the strand. He added also that finding himself in such excellent company, he had not the least desire to hasten his embarkation. As he said this, he pointed out to those who surrounded him the magnificent spectacle which the sky presented, of deepest azir in the horizon, the amphitheater of fleecy clouds ascending from the sun's disk to the zenith, assuming the appearance of a range of snowy mountains whose summits were heaped, one upon another. The dome of clouds was tinged at its base as it were, the foam of rubies fading away into opal and pearly tints, in proportion as the gaze was carried from base to summit. The sea was gilded with the same reflection, and upon the crest of every sparkling wave danced a point of light, like a diamond by lamp-light. The mildness of the evening, the sea breezes so dear to contemplative minds, setting in from the east and blowing in delicious gusts. Then in the distance the black outline of the yacht with its rigging traced upon the unpurpled background of the sky, while dotting the horizon might be seen here in their vessels with their trimmed sails, like the wings of a seagull about to plunge, such a spectacle indeed well merited admiration. A crowd of curious idlers followed the richly dressed attendants, amongst whom they mistook the steward and the secretary for the master and his friend, as for Buckingham, who was dressed very simply in a grey satin vest, and doublet of violet-coloured velvet, wearing his hat thrust over his eyes, and without orders or embroidery, he was taken no more notice of than Deward, who was in black like an attorney. The Duke's attendants had received directions to have the boat in readiness at the jetty and to watch the embarkation of their master without approaching him until either he or his friend should summon them. Whatever may happen, he had added, laying a stress upon these words so that they might not be misunderstood, having walked a few paces upon the strand, Buckingham centred of Ward. I think it is now time to take leave of each other. The tide, you perceive, is rising. Ten minutes hence it will have soaked the sands where we are now walking in such a manner that we shall not be able to keep our footing. I await your orders, my lord, but— but you mean we are still upon soil which is part of the king's territory? Exactly. Well, do you see yonder a kind of little island surrounded by a circle of water? The pool is increasing every minute, and the isle is gradually disappearing. This island indeed belongs to heaven, for it is situated between two seas and is not shown on the king's charts. Do you observe it? Yes, but we can hardly reach it now without getting our feet wet. Yes, but observe that it forms an eminence tolerably high, and that the tide rises on every side, leaving the top free. We shall be admirably placed upon that little theatre. What do you think of it? I shall be perfectly happy wherever I may have the honour of crossing my sword with your lordships. Very well, then. I am distressed to be the cause of your wetting your feet, Mr. DeWard, but it is most essential you should be able to say to the king, Sire, I do not fight upon your majesty's territory. Perhaps the distinction is somewhat subtle, but, since Port Royal, your nation delights in subtleties of expression. Do not let us complain of this, however, for it makes your wit very brilliant, and of a style peculiarly your own. If you do not object, we will hurry ourselves for the sea I perceive is rising fast, and night is setting in. My reason for not walking faster was that I did not wish to proceed your grace. Are you still on dry land, my lord? Yes, at present I am. Look yonder. My servants are afraid we shall be drowned, and have converted the boat into a cruiser. Do you remark how curiously it dances upon the crests of the waves? But, as it makes me feel seasick, would you permit me to turn my back toward them? You will observe, my lord, that in turning your back to them, you will have the sun full in your face. It's rays are very feeble at this hour, and it will soon disappear. Do not be uneasy on that score. As you please, my lord, it was out of consideration for your lordship that I made the remark. I am aware of that, Mr. DeWard, and I fully appreciate your kindness. Shall we take off our doublets? As you please, my lord. Do not hesitate to tell me, Mr. DeWard, if you do not feel comfortable upon the wet sand, or if you think yourself a little too close to the French territory. We could fight in England, or even upon my yacht. We are exceedingly well-placed here, my lord. Only I have the honour to remark that, as the sea is rising fast, we have hardly time. Buckingham made a sign of ascent, took off his doublet and threw it on the ground, a proceeding which DeWard imitated. Both their bodies, which seemed like phantoms to those who were looking at them from the shore, were thrown strongly into relief by a dark, red, violet-coloured shadow with which the sky became overspread. Upon my word, your grace, said DeWard, we shall hardly have time to begin. Do you not perceive how our feet are sinking into the sand? I have sunk up to my ankles, said Buckingham, without reckoning that the water is even now breaking in upon us. It has already reached me. As soon as you please, therefore, your grace, said DeWard, who drew his sword, a movement imitated by the duke. Mr. DeWard, said Buckingham, one final word. I am about to fight you because I do not like you, because you have wounded me in ridiculing a certain devotional regard I have entertained, and one which I acknowledge that, at this moment I still retain, and for which I would very willingly die. You are a bad and heartless man, Mr. DeWard, and I will do my very utmost to take your life, for I feel assured that, if you survive this engagement, you will in the future work great mischief toward my friends. That is all I have to remark, Mr. DeWard. Continued Buckingham as he saluted him. And I, my lord, have only this to reply to you. I have not disliked you hitherto, but since you gave me such a character, I hate you, and will do all I possibly can to kill you. And DeWard saluted Buckingham. The swords crossed at the same moment like two flashes of lightning on a dark night. The swords seemed to seek each other, guess their position, and met. Both were practised swordsmen, and the earlier passes were without any result. The night was fast closing in, and it was so dark that they attacked and defended themselves almost instinctively. Suddenly DeWard felt his sword arrested. He had just touched Buckingham's shoulder. The Duke's sword sunk as his arm was lowered. You are wounded, my lord, said DeWard, drawing back a step or two. Yes, monsieur, but only slightly. Yet you quitted your guard. Only from the first effect of the cold steel, but I have recovered. Let us go on, if you please. And disengaging his sword with a sinister clashing of the blade, the Duke wounded the marquee in the breast. A hit, he said. No! cried DeWard, not moving from his place. I beg your pardon, but observing that your shirt was stained, said Buckingham. Well, said DeWard furiously, it is now your turn. And with a terrible lunge he pierced Buckingham's arm, the sword passing between the two bones. Buckingham, feeling his right arm paralysed, stretched out his left, seized his sword, which was about falling from his nerveless grasp, and before DeWard could resume his guard, he thrust him through the breast. DeWard tottered. His knees gave way beneath him, and leaving his sword still fixed in the Duke's arm, he fell into the water, which was soon crimsoned with a more genuine reflection than that which he had borrowed from the clouds. DeWard was not dead. He felt the terrible danger that menaced him for the sea rose fast. The Duke, too, perceived the danger, with an effort and an exclamation of pain. He tore out the blade which remained in his arm, and turning toward DeWard said, Are you dead, Mucky? No, replied DeWard in a voice choked by the blood which rushed from his lungs to his throat. But very near it. Well, what is to be done? Can you walk? said Buckingham, supporting him on his knee. Impossible! he replied, then falling down again said, Call to your people, or I shall be drowned. Helloa, boat, there, quick, quick! The boat flew over the waves, but the sea rose faster than the boat could approach. Buckingham saw that DeWard was on the point of being again covered by a wave. He passed his left arm safe and unwounded round his body and raised him up. The wave ascended to his waist but did not move him. The Duke immediately began to carry his late antagonist toward the shore. He had hardly gone ten paces when a second wave rushing onwards higher, more furious and menacing than the former, struck him at the height of his chest, threw him over and buried him beneath the water. At the reflux, however, the Duke and DeWard were discovered lying on the strand. DeWard had fainted. At this moment four of the Duke's sailors who comprehended the danger threw themselves into the sea and in a moment were close beside him. Their terror was extreme when they observed how their master became covered with blood. In proportion as the water with which it was impregnated flowed toward his knees and feet, they wished to carry him. No, no, exclaimed the Duke, take the Marquis on shore first. Death to the Frenchman! cried the English sullenly. Wretched knaves! exclaimed the Duke drawing himself up with a haughty gesture, which sprinkled them with blood. Obey directly, Mr. DeWard, on shore! Mr. DeWard's safety is to be looked to first, or I will have you all hanged! The boat had by this time reached them. The secretarian steward leaped into the sea and approached the Marquis, who no longer showed any sign of life. I commit him to your care as you value your lives, said the Duke. Take Mr. DeWard on shore! They took him in their arms and carried him to the dry sand, where the tide never rose so high. A few idlers and five or six fishermen had gathered on the shore, attracted by the strange spectacle of two men fighting with the water up to their knees. The fishermen, observing a group of men approaching, carrying a wounded man, entered the sea until the water was up to their wastes. The English transferred the wounded man to them, and the very moment the ladder began to open his eyes again. The salt water and the fine sand had gotten to his wounds and caused him the acutest pain. The Duke's secretary drew out a purse filled with gold from his pocket, and handed it to one among those present to appear of most importance, saying, From my master, the grace the Duke of Buckingham, in order that every possible care may be taken of the Marquis DeWard. Then, followed by those who had accompanied him, he returned to the boat, which Buckingham had been enabled to reach with the greatest difficulty, but only after he had seen DeWard out of danger. By this time it was high tide, embroidered coats and silk sashes were lost. Many hats, too, had been carried away by the waves. The flow of the tide had borne the Duke's and DeWard's clothes to the shore, and DeWard's was wrapped in the Duke's doublet under the belief that it was his own when the fishermen carried him in their arms toward the town. End of chapter 104 Recording by John Van Stans of Anna, Georgia End of the D'Artagnan Romances, volume 3 part 1 Ten years later by Alexander Dumas, translated by William Robson. Thank you for listening.