“I!” cried Buckingham. “What is it? I should be too happy to be of any service to her. Speak, speak!”
“Take this letter,” said D’Artagnan.
“This letter! From whom comes this letter?”
“From her Majesty, as I think.”
“From her Majesty!” said Buckingham, becoming so pale that D’Artagnan feared he would faint as he broke the seal.
“What is this rent?” said he, showing D’Artagnan a place where it had been pierced through.
“Ah,” said D’Artagnan, “I did not see that; it was the sword of the Comte de Wardes which made that hole, when he gave me a good thrust in the breast.”
“You are wounded?” asked Buckingham, as he opened the letter.
“Oh, nothing but a scratch,” said D’Artagnan.
“Just heaven, what have I read?” cried the duke. “Patrick, remain here, or rather join the king, wherever he may be, and tell his Majesty that I humbly beg him to excuse me, but an affair of the greatest importance recalls me to London. Come, monsieur, come!” and both set off towards the capital at full gallop.