What took place at Portsmouth, August 23, 1628

Felton took leave of milady as a brother about to go for a mere walk takes leave of his sister—by kissing her hand.

He entered Portsmouth about eight o’clock in the morning. The whole population was on foot. Drums were beating in the streets and in the port. The troops about to be embarked were marching toward the sea.

Felton arrived at the palace of the Admiralty covered with dust and streaming with perspiration. His face, usually so pale, was purple with heart and passion. The sentinel was about to keep him away, but Felton called to the officer of the post, and drawing from his pocket the letter of which he was the bearer,

“A pressing message from Lord Winter,” said he.

At the name of Lord Winter, who was known to be one of his Grace’s most intimate friends, the officer of the post gave orders to pass Felton, who, indeed, wore a naval officer’s uniform.

Felton darted into the palace.

At the moment he entered the vestibule another man was entering likewise, covered with dust and out of breath, leaving at the gate a post- horse, which, as soon as he had alighted from it, sank down exhausted.

Felton and he addressed Patrick, the duke’s confidential valet, at the same moment. Felton named Lord Winter. The stranger would give no name, and asserted that he could make himself known to the duke alone. Each insisted on being admitted before the other.

Patrick, who knew Lord Winter had official dealings and friendly relations with the duke, gave the preference to the one who came in his name. The other was forced to wait, and it was easy to see how he cursed the delay.

The valet led Felton through a large hall, in which were waiting the deputies from Rochelle, headed by the Prince de Soubise, and introduced him into a closet, where Buckingham, just out of the bath, was finishing his toilet, on which, as usual, he was bestowing extraordinary attention.

“Lieutenant Felton, from Lord Winter,” said Patrick.

“From Lord Winter!” repeated Buckingham. “Let him come in.”

Felton entered. He held the knife with which milady had stabbed herself open in his bosom. With one bound he was on the duke.

At that moment Patrick entered the room, crying,

“A letter from France, my lord!”

“From France!” cried Buckingham, forgetting everything on thinking from whom that letter came.

Felton took advantage of this moment, and plunged the knife into his side up to the handle.

“Ah, traitor!” cried Buckingham, “thou hast killed me!”

“Murder!” screamed Patrick.

Felton cast his eyes round for means of escape, and seeing the door free, he rushed into the next chamber, in which, as we said, the deputies from Rochelle were waiting, crossed it as quickly as possible, and