them with open arms.
"Oh, is it you, dear friends? Did you come here to fetch me?
Will you take me away with you? Do you bring me tidings of
my guardian?"
"Have you not received any?" said D'Artagnan to the youth.
"Alas! sir, no, and I do not know what has become of him; so
that I am really so unhappy that I weep."
In fact, tears rolled down his cheeks.
Porthos turned aside, in order not to show by his honest
round face what was passing in his mind.
"Deuce take it!" cried D'Artagnan, more moved than he had
been for a long time, "don't despair, my friend, if you have
not received any letters from the count, we have received
one."
"Oh, really!" cried Raoul.
"And a comforting one, too," added D'Artagnan, seeing the
delight that his intelligence gave the young man.
"Have you it?" asked Raoul
"Yes -- that is, I had it," repined the Gascon, making
believe to find it. "Wait, it ought to be there in my
pocket; it speaks of his return, does it not, Porthos?"
All Gascon as he was, D'Artagnan could not bear alone the
weight of that falsehood.
"Yes," replied Porthos, coughing.
"Eh, give it to me!" said the young man.
"Eh! I read it a little while since. Can I have lost it? Ah!
confound it! yes, my pocket has a hole in it."
"Oh, yes, Monsieur Raoul!" said Musqueton, "the letter was
very consoling. These gentlemen read it to me and I wept for
joy."
"But at any rate, you know where he is, Monsieur
d'Artagnan?" asked Raoul, somewhat comforted.
"Ah! that's the thing!" replied the Gascon. "Undoubtedly I
know it, but it is a mystery."
"Not to me, I hope?"
"No, not to you, so I am going to tell you where he is."
Porthos devoured D'Artagnan with wondering eyes.
"Where the devil shall I say that he is, so that he cannot
try to rejoin him?" thought D'Artagnan.
"Well, where is he, sir?" asked Raoul, in a soft and coaxing
voice.
"He is at Constantinople."
"Among the Turks!" exclaimed Raoul, alarmed. "Good heavens!
how can you tell me that?"
"Does that alarm you?" cried D'Artagnan. "Pooh! what are the
Turks to such men as the Comte de la Fere and the Abbe
d'Herblay?"
"Ah, his friend is with him?" said Raoul. "That comforts me
a little."
"Has he wit or not -- this demon D'Artagnan?" said Porthos,
astonished at his friend's deception.
"Now, sir," said D'Artagnan, wishing to change the
conversation, "here are fifty pistoles that the count has
sent you by the same courier. I suppose you have no more
money and that they will be welcome."
"I have still twenty pistoles, sir."
"Well, take them; that makes seventy."
"And if you wish for more," said Porthos, putting his hand
to his pocket ----
"Thank you, sir," replied Raoul, blushing; "thank you a
thousand times."
At this moment Olivain appeared. "Apropos," said D'Artagnan,
loud enough for the servant to hear him, "are you satisfied
with Olivain?"
"Yes, in some respects, tolerably well."
Olivain pretended to have heard nothing and entered the
tent.
"What fault do you find with the fellow?"
"He is a glutton."
"Oh, sir!" cried Olivain, reappearing at this accusation.
"And a little bit of a thief."
"Oh, sir! oh!"
"And, more especially, a notorious coward."
"Oh, oh! sir! you really vilify me!" cried Olivain.
"The deuce!" cried D'Artagnan. "Pray learn, Monsieur
Olivain, that people like us are not to be served by
cowards. Rob your master, eat his sweetmeats, and drink his
wine; but, by Jove! don't be a coward, or I shall cut off
your ears. Look at Monsieur Mouston, see the honorable
wounds he has received, observe how his habitual valor has
given dignity to his countenance."
Musqueton was in the third heaven and would have embraced
D'Artagnan had he dared; meanwhile he resolved to sacrifice
his life for him on the next occasion that presented itself.
"Send away that fellow, Raoul," said the Gascon; "for if
he's a coward he will disgrace thee some day."
"Monsieur says I am coward," cried Olivain, "because he
wanted the other day to fight a cornet in Grammont's
regiment and I refused to accompany him."
"Monsieur Olivain, a lackey ought never to disobey," said
D'Artagnan, sternly; then taking him aside, he whispered to
him: "Thou hast done right; thy master was in the wrong;
here's a crown for thee, but should he ever be insulted and
thou cost not let thyself be cut in quarters for him, I will
cut out thy tongue. Remember that."
Olivain bowed and slipped the crown into his pocket.
"And now, Raoul," said the Gascon, "Monsieur du Vallon and I
are going away as ambassadors, where, I know not; but should
you want anything, write to Madame Turquaine, at La
Chevrette, Rue Tiquetonne and draw upon her purse as on a
banker -- with economy; for it is not so well filled as that
of Monsieur d'Emery."
And having, meantime, embraced his ward, he passed him into
the robust arms of Porthos, who lifted him up from the
ground and held him a moment suspended near the noble heart
of the formidable giant.
"Come," said D'Artagnan, "let us go."
And they set out for Boulogne, where toward evening they
arrived, their horses flecked with foam and dark with
perspiration.
At ten steps from the place where they halted was a young
man in black, who seemed waiting for some one, and who, from
the moment he saw them enter the town, never took his eyes
off them.
D'Artagnan approached him, and seeing him stare so fixedly,
said:
"Well, friend! I don't like people to quiz me!"
"Sir," said the young man, "do you not come from Paris, if
you please?"
D'Artagnan thought it was some gossip who wanted news from
the capital.
"Yes, sir," he said, in a softened tone.
"Are you not going to put up at the `Arms of England'?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you not charged with a mission from his eminence,
Cardinal Mazarin?"
"Yes, sir."
"In that case, I am the man you have to do with. I am M.
Mordaunt."
"Ah!" thought D'Artagnan, "the man I am warned against by
Athos."
"Ah!" thought Porthos, "the man Aramis wants me to
strangle."
They both looked searchingly at the young man, who
misunderstood the meaning of that inquisition.
"Do you doubt my word?" he said. "In that case I can give
you proofs."
"No, sir," said D'Artagnan; "and we place ourselves at your
orders."
"Well, gentlemen," resumed Mordaunt, "we must set out
without delay, to-day is the last day granted me by the
cardinal. My ship is ready, and had you not come I must have
set off without you, for General Cromwell expects my return
impatiently."
"So!" thought the lieutenant, "'tis to General Cromwell that
our dispatches are addressed."
"Have you no letter for him?" asked the young man.
"I have one, the seal of which I am not to break till I
reach London; but since you tell me to whom it is addressed,
'tis useless to wait till then."
D'Artagnan tore open the envelope of the letter. It was
directed to "Monsieur Oliver Cromwell, General of the Army
of the English Nation."
"Ah!" said D'Artagnan; "a singular commission."
"Who is this Monsieur Oliver Cromwell?" inquired Porthos.
"Formerly a brewer," replied the Gascon.
"Perhaps Mazarin wishes to make a speculation in beer, as we
did in straw," said Porthos.
"Come, come, gentlemen," said Mordaunt, impatiently, "let us
depart."
"What!" exclaimed Porthos "without supper? Cannot Monsieur
Cromwell wait a little?"
"Yes, but I?" said Mordaunt.
"Well, you," said Porthos, "what then?"
"I cannot wait."
"Oh! as to you, that is not my concern, and I shall sup
either with or without your permission."
The young man's eyes kindled in secret, but he restrained
himself.
"Monsieur," said D'Artagnan, "you must excuse famished
travelers. Besides, our supper can't delay you much. We will
hasten on to the inn; you will meanwhile proceed on foot to
the harbor. We will take a bite and shall be there as soon
as you are."
"Just as you please, gentlemen, provided we set sail," he
said.
"The name of your ship?" inquired D'Artagnan.
"The Standard."
"Very well; in half an hour we shall be on board."
And the friends, spurring on their horses, rode to the
hotel, the "Arms of England."
"What do you say of that young man?" asked D'Artagnan, as
they hurried along.
"I say that he doesn't suit me at all," said Porthos, "and
that I feel a strong itching to follow Aramis's advice."
"By no means, my dear Porthos; that man is a messenger of
General Cromwell; it would insure for us a poor reception, I
imagine, should it be announced to him that we had twisted
the neck of his confidant."
"Nevertheless," said Porthos, "I have always noticed that
Aramis gives good advice."
"Listen," returned D'Artagnan, "when our embassy is finished
---- "
"Well?"
"If it brings us back to France ---- "
"Well?"
"Well, we shall see."
At that moment the two friends reached the hotel, "Arms of
England," where they supped with hearty appetite and then at
once proceeded to the port.
There they found a brig ready to set sail, upon the deck of
which they recognized Mordaunt walking up and down
impatiently.
"It is singular," said D'Artagnan, whilst the boat was
taking them to the Standard, "it is astonishing how that
young man resembles some one I must have known, but who it
was I cannot yet remember."
A few minutes later they were on board, but the embarkation
of the horses was a longer matter than that of the men, and
it was eight o'clock before they raised anchor.
The young man stamped impatiently and ordered all sail to be
spread.
Porthos, completely used up by three nights without sleep
and a journey of seventy leagues on horseback, retired to
his cabin and went to sleep.
D'Artagnan, overcoming his repugnance to Mordaunt, walked
with him upon the deck and invented a hundred stories to
make him talk.
Musqueton was seasick.
55
The Scotchman.
And now our readers must leave the Standard to sail
peaceably, not toward London, where D'Artagnan and Porthos
believed they were going, but to Durham, whither Mordaunt
had been ordered to repair by the letter he had received
during his sojourn at Boulogne, and accompany us to the
royalist camp, on this side of the Tyne, near Newcastle.
There, placed between two rivers on the borders of Scotland,
but still on English soil, the tents of a little army
extended. It was midnight. Some Highlanders were listlessly
keeping watch. The moon, which was partially obscured by
heavy clouds, now and then lit up the muskets of the
sentinels, or silvered the walls, the roofs, and the spires
of the town that Charles I. had just surrendered to the
parliamentary troops, whilst Oxford and Newark still held
out for him in the hopes of coming to some arrangement.
At one of the extremities of the camp, near an immense tent,
in which the Scottish officers were holding a kind of
council, presided over by Lord Leven, their commander, a man
attired as a cavalier lay sleeping on the turf, his right
hand extended over his sword.
About fifty paces off, another man, also appareled as a
cavalier, was talking to a Scotch sentinel, and, though a
foreigner, he seemed to understand without much difficulty
the answers given in the broad Perthshire dialect.
As the town clock of Newcastle struck one the sleeper awoke,
and with all the gestures of a man rousing himself out of
deep sleep he looked attentively about him; perceiving that
he was alone he rose and making a little circuit passed
close to the cavalier who was speaking to the sentinel. The
former had no doubt finished his questions, for a moment
later he said good-night and carelessly followed the same
path taken by the first cavalier.
In the shadow of a tent the former was awaiting him.
"Well, my dear friend?" said he, in as pure French as has
ever been uttered between Rouen and Tours.
"Well, my friend, there is not a moment to lose; we must let
the king know immediately."
"Why, what is the matter?"
"It would take too long to tell you, besides, you will hear
it all directly and the least word dropped here might ruin
all. We must go and find Lord Winter."
They both set off to the other end of the camp, but as it
did not cover more than a surface of five hundred feet they
quickly arrived at the tent they were looking for.
"Tony, is your master sleeping?" said one of the two
cavaliers to a servant who was lying in the outer
compartment, which served as a kind of ante-room.
"No, monsieur le comte," answered the servant, "I think not;
or at least he has not long been so, for he was pacing up
