livid, but he uttered no cry nor called for assistance.
D'Artagnan quietly pushed him in again, and by the light of
a lamp on the staircase made him ascend the steps backward
one by one, keeping his eyes all the time on Mordaunt's
hands, who, however, knowing that it was useless, attempted
no resistance. At last they stood face to face in the very
room where ten minutes before Mordaunt had been talking to
Cromwell.
Porthos came up behind, and unhooking the lamp on the
staircase relit that in the room. Athos and Aramis entered
last and locked the door behind them.
"Oblige me by taking a seat," said D'Artagnan, pushing a
chair toward Mordaunt, who sat down, pale but calm. Aramis,
Porthos and D'Artagnan drew their chairs near him. Athos
alone kept away and sat in the furthest corner of the room,
as if determined to be merely a spectator of the
proceedings. He seemed to be quite overcome. Porthos rubbed
his hands in feverish impatience. Aramis bit his lips till
the blood came.
D'Artagnan alone was calm, at least in appearance.
"Monsieur Mordaunt," he said, "since, after running after
one another so long, chance has at last brought us together,
let us have a little conversation, if you please."
69
Conversational.
Though Mordaunt had been so completely taken by surprise and
had mounted the stairs in such utter confusion, when once
seated he recovered himself, as it were, and prepared to
seize any possible opportunity of escape. His eye wandered
to a long stout sword on his flank and he instinctively
slipped it around within reach of his right hand.
D'Artagnan was waiting for a reply to his remark and said
nothing. Aramis muttered to himself, "We shall hear nothing
but the usual commonplace things."
Porthos sucked his mustache, muttering, "A good deal of
ceremony to-night about crushing an adder." Athos shrunk
into his corner, pale and motionless as a bas-relief.
The silence, however, could not last forever. So D'Artagnan
began:
"Sir," he said, with desperate politeness, "it seems to me
that you change your costume almost as rapidly as I have
seen the Italian mummers do, whom the Cardinal Mazarin
brought over from Bergamo and whom he doubtless took you to
see during your travels in France."
Mordaunt did not reply.
"Just now," D'Artagnan continued, "you were disguised -- I
mean to say, attired -- as a murderer, and now ---- "
"And now I look very much like a man who is going to be
murdered."
"Oh! sir," said D'Artagnan, "how can you talk like that when
you are in the company of gentlemen and have such an
excellent sword at your side?"
"No sword is excellent enough to be of use against four
swords and daggers."
"Well, that is scarcely the question. I had the honor of
asking you why you altered your costume. The mask and beard
became you very well, and as to the axe, I do not think it
would be out of keeping even at this moment. Why, then, have
you laid it aside?"
"Because, remembering the scene at Armentieres, I thought I
should find four axes for one, as I was to meet four
executioners."
"Sir," replied D'Artagnan, in the calmest manner possible,
"you are very young; I shall therefore overlook your
frivolous remarks. What took place at Armentieres has no
connection whatever with the present occasion. We could
scarcely have requested your mother to take a sword and
fight us."
"Aha! It is a duel, then?" cried Mordaunt, as if disposed to
reply at once to the provocation.
Porthos rose, always ready for this kind of adventure.
"Pardon me," said D'Artagnan. "Do not let us do things in a
hurry. We will arrange the matter rather better. Confess,
Monsieur Mordaunt, that you are anxious to kill some of us."
"All," replied Mordaunt.
"Then, my dear sir; I am convinced that these gentlemen
return your kind wishes and will be delighted to kill you
also. Of course they will do so as honorable gentlemen, and
the best proof I can furnish is this ---- "
So saying, he threw his hat on the ground, pushed back his
chair to the wall and bowed to Mordaunt with true French
grace.
"At your service, sir," he continued. "My sword is shorter
than yours, it's true, but, bah! I think the arm will make
up for the sword."
"Halt!" cried Porthos coming forward. "I begin, and without
any rhetoric."
"Allow me, Porthos," said Aramis.
Athos did not move. He might have been taken for a statue.
Even his breathing seemed to be arrested.
"Gentlemen," said D'Artagnan, "you shall have your turn.
Monsieur Mordaunt dislikes you sufficiently not to refuse
you afterward. You can see it in his eye. So pray keep your
places, like Athos, whose calmness is entirely laudable.
Besides, we will have no words about it. I have particular
business to settle with this gentleman and I shall and will
begin."
Porthos and Aramis drew back, disappointed, and drawing his
sword D'Artagnan turned to his adversary:
"Sir, I am waiting for you."
"And for my part, gentlemen, I admire you. You are disputing
which shall fight me first, but you do not consult me who am
most concerned in the matter. I hate you all, but not
equally. I hope to kill all four of you, but I am more
likely to kill the first than the second, the second than
the third, and the third than the last. I claim, then, the
right to choose my opponent. If you refuse this right you
may kill me, but I shall not fight."
"It is but fair," said Porthos and Aramis, hoping he would
choose one of them.
Athos and D'Artagnan said nothing, but their silence seemed
to imply consent.
"Well, then," said Mordaunt, "I choose for my adversary the
man who, not thinking himself worthy to be called Comte de
la Fere, calls himself Athos."
Athos sprang up, but after an instant of motionless silence
he said, to the astonishment of his friends, "Monsieur
Mordaunt, a duel between us is impossible. Submit this
honour to somebody else." And he sat down.
"Ah!" said Mordaunt, with a sneer, "there's one who is
afraid."
"Zounds!" exclaimed D'Artagnan, bounding toward him, "who
says that Athos is afraid?"
"Let him have his say, D'Artagnan," said Athos, with a smile
of sadness and contempt.
"Is it your decision, Athos?" resumed the Gascon.
"Irrevocably."
"You hear, sir," said D'Artagnan, turning to Mordaunt. "The
Comte de la Fere will not do you the honor of fighting with
you. Choose one of us to replace the Comte de la Fere."
"As long as I don't fight with him it is the same to me with
whom I fight. Put your names into a hat and draw lots."
"A good idea," said D'Artagnan.
"At least that will conciliate us all," said Aramis.
"I should never have thought of that," said Porthos, "and
yet it is very simple."
"Come, Aramis," said D'Artagnan, "write this for us in those
neat little characters in which you wrote to Marie Michon
that the mother of this gentleman intended to assassinate
the Duke of Buckingham."
Mordaunt sustained this new attack without wincing. He stood
with his arms folded, apparently as calm as any man could be
in such circumstances. If he had not courage he had what is
very like it, namely, pride.
Aramis went to Cromwell's desk, tore off three bits of paper
of equal size, wrote on the first his own name and on the
others those of his two companions, and presented them open
to Mordaunt, who by a movement of his head indicated that he
left the matter entirely to Aramis. He then rolled them
separately and put them in a hat, which he handed to
Mordaunt.
Mordaunt put his hand into the hat, took out one of the
three papers and disdainfully dropped it on the table
without reading it.
"Ah! serpent," muttered D'Artagnan, "I would give my chance
of a captaincy in the mousquetaires for that to be my name."
Aramis opened the paper, and in a voice trembling with hate
and vengeance read "D'Artagnan."
The Gascon uttered a cry of joy and turning to Mordaunt:
"I hope, sir," said he, "you have no objection to make."
"None, whatever," replied the other, drawing his sword and
resting the point on his boot.
The moment that D'Artagnan saw that his wish was
accomplished and his man would not escape him, he recovered
his usual tranquillity. He turned up his cuffs neatly and
rubbed the sole of his right boot on the floor, but did not
fail, however, to remark that Mordaunt was looking about him
in a singular manner.
"Are you ready, sir?" he said at last.
"I was waiting for you, sir," said Mordaunt, raising his
head and casting at his opponent a look it would be
impossible to describe.
"Well, then," said the Gascon, "take care of yourself, for I
am not a bad hand at the rapier."
"Nor I either."
"So much the better; that sets my mind at rest. Defend
yourself."
"One minute," said the young man. "Give me your word,
gentlemen, that you will not attack me otherwise than one
after the other."
"Is it to have the pleasure of insulting us that you say
that, my little viper?"
"No, but to set my mind at rest, as you observed just now."
"It is for something else than that, I imagine," muttered
D'Artagnan, shaking his head doubtfully.
"On the honor of gentlemen," said Aramis and Porthos.
"In that case, gentlemen, have the kindness to retire into
the corners, so as to give us ample room. We shall require
it."
"Yes, gentlemen," said D'Artagnan, "we must not leave this
person the slightest pretext for behaving badly, which, with
all due respect, I fancy he is anxious still to do."
This new attack made no impression on Mordaunt. The space
was cleared, the two lamps placed on Cromwell's desk, in
order that the combatants might have as much light as
possible; and the swords crossed.
D'Artagnan was too good a swordsman to trifle with his
opponent. He made a rapid and brilliant feint which Mordaunt
parried.
"Aha!" he cried with a smile of satisfaction.
And without losing a minute, thinking he saw an opening, he
thrust his right in and forced Mordaunt to parry a counter
en quarte so fine that the point of the weapon might have
turned within a wedding ring.
This time it was Mordaunt who smiled.
"Ah, sir," said D'Artagnan, "you have a wicked smile. It
must have been the devil who taught it you, was it not?"
Mordaunt replied by trying his opponent's weapon with an
amount of strength which the Gascon was astonished to find
in a form apparently so feeble; but thanks to a parry no
less clever than that which Mordaunt had just achieved, he
succeeded in meeting his sword, which slid along his own
without touching his chest.
Mordaunt rapidly sprang back a step.
"Ah! you lose ground, you are turning? Well, as you please,
I even gain something by it, for I no longer see that wicked
smile of yours. You have no idea what a false look you have,
particularly when you are afraid. Look at my eyes and you
will see what no looking-glass has ever shown you -- a frank
and honorable countenance."
To this flow of words, not perhaps in the best taste, but
characteristic of D'Artagnan, whose principal object was to
divert his opponent's attention, Mordaunt did not reply, but
continuing to turn around he succeeded in changing places
with D'Artagnan.
He smiled more and more sarcastically and his smile began to
make the Gascon anxious.
"Come, come," cried D'Artagnan, "we must finish with this,"
and in his turn he pressed Mordaunt hard, who continued to
lose ground, but evidently on purpose and without letting
his sword leave the line for a moment. However, as they were
fighting in a room and had not space to go on like that
forever, Mordaunt's foot at last touched the wall, against
which he rested his left hand.
"Ah, this time you cannot lose ground, my fine friend!"
exclaimed D'Artagnan. "Gentlemen, did you ever see a
scorpion pinned to a wall? No. Well, then, you shall see it
now."
In a second D'Artagnan had made three terrible thrusts at
Mordaunt, all of which touched, but only pricked him. The
three friends looked on, panting and astonished. At last
D'Artagnan, having got up too close, stepped back to prepare
a fourth thrust, but the moment when, after a fine, quick
feint, he was attacking as sharply as lightning, the wall
seemed to give way, Mordaunt disappeared through the
opening, and D'Artagnan's blade, caught between the panels,
shivered like a sword of glass. D'Artagnan sprang back; the
wall had closed again.
Mordaunt, in fact, while defending himself, had manoeuvred
so as to reach the secret door by which Cromwell had left,
had felt for the knob with his left hand, pressed it and
disappeared.
The Gascon uttered a furious imprecation, which was answered
by a wild laugh on the other side of the iron panel.
"Help me, gentlemen," cried D'Artagnan, "we must break in
this door."
"It is the devil in person!" said Aramis, hastening forward.
"He escapes us," growled Porthos, pushing his huge shoulder
against the hinges, but in vain. "'Sblood! he escapes us."
"So much the better," muttered Athos.
