It would be impossible to describe Musqueton's astonishment
when from the threshold of the door he saw the four friends
approaching, followed by a sergeant with a dozen men. He
rubbed his eyes, doubting if he really saw before him Athos
and Aramis; and forced at last to yield to evidence, he was
on the point of breaking forth in exclamations when he
encountered a glance from the eyes of Porthos, the
repressive force of which he was not inclined to dispute.
Musqueton remained glued to the door, awaiting the
explanation of this strange occurrence. What upset him
completely was that the four friends seemed to have no
acquaintance with one another.
The house to which D'Artagnan and Porthos conducted Athos
and Aramis was the one assigned to them by General Cromwell
and of which they had taken possession on the previous
evening. It was at the corner of two streets and had in the
rear, bordering on the side street, stables and a sort of
garden. The windows on the ground floor, according to a
custom in provincial villages, were barred, so that they
strongly resembled the windows of a prison.
The two friends made the prisoners enter the house first,
whilst they stood at the door, desiring Musqueton to take
the four horses to the stable.
"Why don't we go in with them?" asked Porthos.
"We must first see what the sergeant wishes us to do,"
replied D'Artagnan.
The sergeant and his men took possession of the little
garden.
D'Artagnan asked them what they wished and why they had
taken that position.
"We have had orders," answered the man, "to help you in
taking care of your prisoners."
There could be no fault to find with this arrangement; on
the contrary, it seemed to be a delicate attention, to be
gratefully received; D'Artagnan, therefore, thanked the man
and gave him a crown piece to drink to General Cromwell's
health.
The sergeant answered that Puritans never drank, and put the
crown piece in his pocket.
"Ah!" said Porthos, "what a fearful day, my dear
D'Artagnan!"
"What! a fearful day, when to-day we find our friends?"
"Yes; but under what circumstances?"
"'Tis true that our position is an awkward one; but let us
go in and see more clearly what is to be done."
"Things look black enough," replied Porthos; "I understand
now why Aramis advised me to strangle that horrible
Mordaunt."
"Silence!" cried the Gascon; "do not utter that name."
"But," argued Porthos, "I speak French and they are all
English."
D'Artagnan looked at Porthos with that air of wonder which a
cunning man cannot help feeling at displays of crass
stupidity.
But as Porthos on his side could not comprehend his
astonishment, he merely pushed him indoors, saying, "Let us
go in."
They found Athos in profound despondency; Aramis looked
first at Porthos and then at D'Artagnan, without speaking,
but the latter understood his meaning look.
"You want to know how we came here? 'Tis easily guessed.
Mazarin sent us with a letter to General Cromwell."
"But how came you to fall into company with Mordaunt, whom I
bade you distrust?" asked Athos.
"And whom I advised you to strangle, Porthos," said Aramis.
"Mazarin again. Cromwell had sent him to Mazarin. Mazarin
sent us to Cromwell. There is a certain fatality in it."
"Yes, you are right, D'Artagnan, a fatality that will
separate and ruin us! So, my dear Aramis, say no more about
it and let us prepare to submit to destiny."
"Zounds! on the contrary, let us speak about it; for it was
agreed among us, once for all, that we should always hold
together, though engaged on opposing sides."
"Yes," added Athos, "I now ask you, D'Artagnan, what side
you are on? Ah! behold for what end the wretched Mazarin has
made use of you. Do you know in what crime you are to-day
engaged? In the capture of a king, his degradation and his
murder."
"Oh! oh!" cried Porthos, "do you think so?"
"You are exaggerating, Athos; we are not so far gone as
that," replied the lieutenant.
"Good heavens! we are on the very eve of it. I say, why is
the king taken prisoner? Those who wish to respect him as a
master would not buy him as a slave. Do you think it is to
replace him on the throne that Cromwell has paid for him two
hundred thousand pounds sterling? They will kill him, you
may be sure of it."
"I don't maintain the contrary," said D'Artagnan. "But
what's that to us? I am here because I am a soldier and have
to obey orders -- I have taken an oath to obey, and I do
obey; but you who have taken no such oath, why are you here
and what cause do you represent?"
"That most sacred in the world," said Athos; "the cause of
misfortune, of religion, royalty. A friend, a wife, a
daughter, have done us the honor to call us to their aid. We
have served them to the best of our poor means, and God will
recompense the will, forgive the want of power. You may see
matters differently, D'Artagnan, and think otherwise. I will
not attempt to argue with you, but I blame you."
"Heyday!" cried D'Artagnan, "what matters it to me, after
all, if Cromwell, who's an Englishman, revolts against his
king, who is a Scotchman? I am myself a Frenchman. I have
nothing to do with these things -- why hold me responsible?"
"Yes," said Porthos.
"Because all gentlemen are brothers, because you are a
gentleman, because the kings of all countries are the first
among gentlemen, because the blind populace, ungrateful and
brutal, always takes pleasure in pulling down what is above
them. And you, you, D'Artagnan, a man sprung from the
ancient nobility of France, bearing an honorable name,
carrying a good sword, have helped to give up a king to
beersellers, shopkeepers, and wagoners. Ah! D'Artagnan!
perhaps you have done your duty as a soldier, but as a
gentleman, I say that you are very culpable."
D'Artagnan was chewing the stalk of a flower, unable to
reply and thoroughly uncomfortable; for when turned from the
eyes of Athos he encountered those of Aramis.
"And you, Porthos," continued the count, as if in
consideration for D'Artagnan's embarrassment, "you, the best
heart, the best friend, the best soldier that I know -- you,
with a soul that makes you worthy of a birth on the steps of
a throne, and who, sooner or later, must receive your reward
from an intelligent king -- you, my dear Porthos, you, a
gentleman in manners, in tastes and in courage, you are as
culpable as D'Artagnan."
Porthos blushed, but with pleasure rather than with
confusion; and yet, bowing his head, as if humiliated, he
said:
"Yes, yes, my dear count, I feel that you are right."
Athos arose.
"Come," he said, stretching out his hand to D'Artagnan,
"come, don't be sullen, my dear son, for I have said all
this to you, if not in the tone, at least with the feelings
of a father. It would have been easier to me merely to have
thanked you for preserving my life and not to have uttered a
word of all this."
"Doubtless, doubtless, Athos. But here it is: you have
sentiments, the devil knows what, such as every one can't
entertain. Who could suppose that a sensible man could leave
his house, France, his ward -- a charming youth, for we saw
him in the camp -- to fly to the aid of a rotten, worm-eaten
royalty, which is going to crumble one of these days like an
old hovel. The sentiments you air are certainly fine, so
fine that they are superhuman."
"However that may be, D'Artagnan," replied Athos, without
falling into the snare which his Gascon friend had prepared
for him by an appeal to his parental love, "however that may
be, you know in the bottom of your heart that it is true;
but I am wrong to dispute with my master. D'Artagnan, I am
your prisoner -- treat me as such."
"Ah! pardieu!" said D'Artagnan, "you know you will not be my
prisoner very long."
"No," said Aramis, "they will doubtless treat us like the
prisoners of the Philipghauts."
"And how were they treated?" asked D'Artagnan.
"Why," said Aramis, "one-half were hanged and the other half
were shot."
"Well, I," said D'Artagnan "I answer that while there
remains a drop of blood in my veins you will be neither
hanged nor shot. Sang Diou! let them come on! Besides -- do
you see that door, Athos?"
"Yes; what then?"
"Well, you can go out by that door whenever you please; for
from this moment you are free as the air."
"I recognize you there, my brave D'Artagnan," replied Athos;
"but you are no longer our masters. That door is guarded,
D'Artagnan; you know that."
"Very well, you will force it," said Porthos. "There are
only a dozen men at the most."
"That would be nothing for us four; it is too much for us
two. No, divided as we now are, we must perish. See the
fatal example: on the Vendomois road, D'Artagnan, you so
brave, and you, Porthos, so valiant and so strong -- you
were beaten; to-day Aramis and I are beaten in our turn. Now
that never happened to us when we were four together. Let us
die, then, as De Winter has died; as for me, I will fly only
on condition that we all fly together."
"Impossible," said D'Artagnan; "we are under Mazarin's
orders."
"I know it and I have nothing more to say; my arguments lead
to nothing; doubtless they are bad, since they have not
determined minds so just as yours."
"Besides," said Aramis, "had they taken effect it would be
still better not to compromise two excellent friends like
D'Artagnan and Porthos. Be assured, gentlemen, we shall do
you honor in our dying. As for myself, I shall be proud to
face the bullets, or even the rope, in company with you,
Athos; for you have never seemed to me so grand as you are
to-day."
D'Artagnan said nothing, but, after having gnawed the flower
stalk, he began to bite his nails. At last:
"Do you imagine," he resumed, "that they mean to kill you?
And wherefore should they do so? What interest have they in
your death? Moreover, you are our prisoners."
"Fool!" cried Aramis; "knowest thou not, then, Mordaunt? I
have but exchanged with him one look, yet that look
convinced me that we were doomed."
"The truth is, I'm very sorry that I did not strangle him as
you advised me," said Porthos.
"Eh! I make no account of the harm Mordaunt can do!" cried
D'Artagnan. "Cap de Diou! if he troubles me too much I will
crush him, the insect! Do not fly, then. It is useless; for
I swear to you that you are as safe here as you were twenty
years, ago -- you, Athos, in the Rue Ferou, and you, Aramis,
in the Rue de Vaugirard."
"Stop," cried Athos, extending his hand to one of the grated
windows by which the room was lighted; "you will soon know
what to expect, for here he is."
"Who?"
"Mordaunt."
In fact, looking at the place to which Athos pointed,
D'Artagnan saw a cavalier coming toward the house at full
gallop.
It was Mordaunt.
D'Artagnan rushed out of the room.
Porthos wanted to follow him.
"Stay," said D'Artagnan, "and do not come till you hear me
drum my fingers on the door."
When Mordaunt arrived opposite the house he saw D'Artagnan
on the threshold and the soldiers lying on the grass here
and there, with their arms.
"Halloo!" he cried, "are the prisoners still there?"
"Yes, sir," answered the sergeant, uncovering.
"'Tis well; order four men to conduct them to my lodging."
Four men prepared to do so.
"What is it?" said D'Artagnan, with that jeering manner
which our readers have so often observed in him since they
made his acquaintance. "What is the matter, if you please?"
"Sir," replied Mordaunt, "I have ordered the two prisoners
we made this morning to be conducted to my lodging."
"Wherefore, sir? Excuse curiosity, but I wish to be
enlightened on the subject."
"Because these prisoners, sir, are at my disposal and I
choose to dispose of them as I like."
"Allow me -- allow me, sir," said D'Artagnan, "to observe
you are in error. The prisoners belong to those who take
them and not to those who only saw them taken. You might
have taken Lord Winter -- who, 'tis said, was your uncle --
prisoner, but you preferred killing him; 'tis well; we, that
is, Monsieur du Vallon and I, could have killed our
prisoners -- we preferred taking them."
Mordaunt's very lips grew white with rage.
D'Artagnan now saw that affairs were growing worse and he
beat the guard's march upon the door. At the first beat
Porthos rushed out and stood on the other side of the door.
This movement was observed by Mordaunt.
"Sir!" he thus addressed D'Artagnan, "your resistance is
useless; these prisoners have just been given me by my
illustrious patron, Oliver Cromwell."
These words struck D'Artagnan like a thunderbolt. The blood
mounted to his temples, his eyes became dim; he saw from
what fountainhead the ferocious hopes of the young man
arose, and he put his hand to the hilt of his sword.
As for Porthos, he looked inquiringly at D'Artagnan.
This look of Porthos's made the Gascon regret that he had
