“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. “May I be permitted to inform my wife?” said he. “Oh, you may even see her if you like, my dear Mr. O’Reilly. Your captivity shall be mild, be assured; and as every inconvenience deserves its indemnification, here is, in addition to the price of the studs, an order for a thousand pistoles, to make you forget the annoyance I cause you.” D’Artagnan could not get over the surprise created in him by this minister, who thus open-handed, sported with men and millions. As to the goldsmith, he wrote to his wife, sending her the order for the thousand pistoles, and charging her to send him, in exchange, his most skillful apprentice, an assortment of diamonds, of which he gave the names and the weight, and the necessary tools. Buckingham conducted the goldsmith to the chamber destined for him, and which, at the end of half an hour, was transformed into a workshop. Then he placed a sentinel at each door, with an order to admit nobody upon any pretense but his _valet de chambre_, Patrick. We need not add that the goldsmith, O’Reilly, and his assistant, were prohibited from going out under any pretext. This point, settled, the duke turned to D’Artagnan. “Now, my young friend,” said he, “England is all our own. What do you wish for? What do you desire?” “A bed, my Lord,” replied D’Artagnan. “At present, I confess, that is the thing I stand most in need of.” Buckingham gave D’Artagnan a chamber adjoining his own. He wished to have the young man at hand—not that he at all mistrusted him, but for the sake of having someone to whom he could constantly talk of the queen. In one hour after, the ordinance was published in London that no vessel bound for France should leave port, not even the packet boat with letters. In the eyes of everybody this was a declaration of war between the two kingdoms.