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
summoned the brute force of his friend to aid him in an
affair which seemed to require chiefly cunning.
“Violence,” he said to himself, “would spoil all;
D’Artagnan, my friend, prove to this young serpent that thou
art not only stronger, but more subtle than he is.”
“Ah!” he said, making a low bow, “why did you not begin by
saying that, Monsieur Mordaunt? What! are you sent by
General Oliver Cromwell, the most illustrious captain of the
age?”
“I have this instant left him,” replied Mordaunt, alighting,
in order to give his horse to a soldier to hold.
“Why did you not say so at once, my dear sir! all England is
with Cromwell; and since you ask for my prisoners, I bend,
sir, to your wishes. They are yours; take them.”
Mordaunt, delighted, advanced, Porthos looking at D’Artagnan
with open-mouthed astonishment. Then D’Artagnan trod on his
foot and Porthos began to understand that this was merely
acting.
Mordaunt put his foot on the first step of the door and,
with his hat in hand, prepared to pass by the two friends,
motioning to the four men to follow him.
“But, pardon,” said D’Artagnan, with the most charming smile
and putting his hand on the young man’s shoulder, “if the
illustrious General Oliver Cromwell has disposed of our
prisoners in your favour, he has, of course, made that act
of donation in writing.”
Mordaunt stopped short.
“He has given you some little writing for me — the least
bit of paper which may show that you come in his name. Be
pleased to give me that scrap of paper so that I may
justify, by a pretext at least, my abandoning my countrymen.
Otherwise, you see, although I am sure that General Oliver
Cromwell can intend them no harm, it would have a bad
appearance.”
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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
Mordaunt recoiled; he felt the blow and discharged a
terrible look at D’Artagnan, who responded by the most
amiable expression that ever graced a human countenance.
“When I tell you a thing, sir,” said Mordaunt, “you insult
me by doubting it.”
“I!” cried D’Artagnan, “I doubt what you say!” God keep me
from it, my dear Monsieur Mordaunt! On the contrary, I take
you to be a worthy and accomplished gentleman. And then,
sir, do you wish me to speak freely to you?” continued
D’Artagnan, with his frank expression.
“Speak out, sir,” said Mordaunt.
“Monsieur du Vallon, yonder, is rich and has forty thousand
francs yearly, so he does not care about money. I do not
speak for him, but for myself.”
“Well, sir? What more?”
“Well — I — I’m not rich. In Gascony ’tis no dishonor,
sir, nobody is rich; and Henry IV., of glorious memory, who
was the king of the Gascons, as His Majesty Philip IV. is
the king of the Spaniards, never had a penny in his pocket.”
“Go on, sir, I see what you wish to get at; and if it is
simply what I think that stops you, I can obviate the
difficulty.”
“Ah, I knew well,” said the Gascon, “that you were a man of
talent. Well, here’s the case, here’s where the saddle hurts
me, as we French say. I am an officer of fortune, nothing
else; I have nothing but what my sword brings me in — that
is to say, more blows than banknotes. Now, on taking
prisoners, this morning, two Frenchmen, who seemed to me of
high birth — in short, two knights of the Garter — I said
to myself, my fortune is made. I say two, because in such
circumstances, Monsieur du Vallon, who is rich, always gives
me his prisoners.”
Mordaunt, completely deceived by the wordy civility of
D’Artagnan, smiled like a man who understands perfectly the
reasons given him, and said:
“I shall have the order signed directly, sir, and with it
two thousand pistoles; meanwhile, let me take these men
away.”
“No,” replied D’Artagnan; “what signifies a delay of half an