the castle; he had hastened to
Milady's chamber, had found it empty, the window open, and the bars
filed, had remembered the verbal caution d'Artagnan had transmitted
to him by his messenger, had trembled for the duke, and running to the
stable without taking time to have a horse saddled, had jumped upon the
first he found, had galloped off like the wind, had alighted below in
the courtyard, had ascended the stairs precipitately, and on the top
step, as we have said, had encountered Felton.

The duke, however, was not dead. He recovered a little, reopened his
eyes, and hope revived in all hearts.

"Gentlemen," said he, "leave me alone with Patrick and Laporte--ah, is
that you, de Winter? You sent me a strange madman this morning! See the
state in which he has put me."

"Oh, my Lord!" cried the baron, "I shall never console myself."

"And you would be quite wrong, my dear de Winter," said Buckingham,
holding out his hand to him. "I do not know the man who deserves being
regretted during the whole life of another man; but leave us, I pray
you."

The baron went out sobbing.

There only remained in the closet of the wounded duke Laporte and
Patrick. A physician was sought for, but none was yet found.

"You will live, my Lord, you will live!" repeated the faithful servant
of Anne of Austria, on his knees before the duke's sofa.

"What has she written to me?" said Buckingham, feebly, streaming with
blood, and suppressing his agony to speak of her he loved, "what has she
written to me? Read me her letter."

"Oh, my Lord!" said Laporte.

"Obey, Laporte, do you not see I have no time to lose?"

Laporte broke the seal, and placed the paper before the eyes of the
duke; but Buckingham in vain tried to make out the writing.

"Read!" said he, "read! I cannot see. Read, then! For soon, perhaps, I
shall not hear, and I shall die without knowing what she has written to
me."

Laporte made no further objection, and read:

"My Lord, By that which, since I have known you, have suffered by you
and for you, I conjure you, if you have any care for my repose, to
countermand those great armaments which you are preparing against
France, to put an end to a war of which it is publicly said religion is
the ostensible cause, and of which, it is generally whispered, your
love for me is the concealed cause. This war may not only bring great
catastrophes upon England and France, but misfortune upon you, my Lord,
for which I should n