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daggers. We four have got to master these eight fools and
their stupid captain. Monsieur Porthos, what do you say to
that?”
“I say it is easy enough,” answered Porthos.
“We dress the king in Groslow’s clothes. Mousqueton, Grimaud
and Blaisois have our horses saddled at the end of the first
street. We mount them and before daylight are twenty leagues
distant.”
Athos placed his two hands on D’Artagnan’s shoulders, and
gazed at him with his calm, sad smile.
“I declare, my friend,” said he, “that there is not a
creature under the sky who equals you in prowess and in
courage. Whilst we thought you indifferent to our sorrows,
which you couldn’t share without crime, you alone among us
have discovered what we were searching for in vain. I repeat
it, D’Artagnan, you are the best one among us; I bless and
love you, my dear son.”
“And to think that I couldn’t find that out,” said Porthos,
scratching his head; “it is so simple.”
“But,” said Aramis, “if I understand rightly we are to kill
them all, eh?”
Athos shuddered and turned pale.
“Mordioux!” answered D’Artagnan, “I believe we must. I
confess I can discover no other safe and satisfactory way.”
“Let us see,” said Aramis, “how are we to act?”
“I have arranged two plans. Firstly, at a given signal,
which shall be the words `At last,’ you each plunge a dagger
into the heart of the soldier nearest to you. We, on our
side, do the same. That will be four killed. We shall then
be matched, four against the remaining five. If these five
men give themselves up we gag them; if they resist, we kill
them. If by chance our Amphitryon changes his mind and
receives only Porthos and myself, why, then, we must resort
to heroic measures and each give two strokes instead of one.
It will take a little longer time and may make a greater
disturbance, but you will be outside with swords and will
rush in at the proper time.”
“But if you yourselves should be struck?” said Athos.
“Impossible!” said D’Artagnan; “those beer drinkers are too
clumsy and awkward. Besides, you will strike at the throat,
Porthos; it kills as quickly and prevents all outcry.”
“Very good,” said Porthos; “it will be a nice little throat
cutting.”
“Horrible, horrible,” exclaimed Athos.
“Nonsense,” said D’Artagnan; “you would do as much, Mr.
Humanity, in a battle. But if you think the king’s life is
not worth what it must cost there’s an end of the matter and
I send to Groslow to say I am ill.”
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“No, you are right,” said Athos.
At this moment a soldier entered to inform them that Groslow
was waiting for them.
“Where?” asked D’Artagnan.
“In the room of the English Nebuchadnezzar,” replied the
staunch Puritan.
“Good,” replied Athos, whose blood mounted to his face at
the insult offered to royalty; “tell the captain we are
coming.”
The Puritan then went out. The lackeys had been ordered to
saddle eight horses and to wait, keeping together and
without dismounting, at the corner of a street about twenty
steps from the house where the king was lodged.
It was nine o’clock in the evening; the sentinels had been
relieved at eight and Captain Groslow had been on guard for
an hour. D’Artagnan and Porthos, armed with their swords,
and Athos and Aramis, each carrying a concealed poniard,
approached the house which for the time being was Charles
Stuart’s prison. The two latter followed their captors in
the humble guise of captives, without arms.
“Od’s bodikins,” said Groslow, as the four friends entered,
“I had almost given you up.”
D’Artagnan went up to him and whispered in his ear:
“The fact is, we, that is, Monsieur du Vallon and I,
hesitated a little.”
“And why?”
D’Artagnan looked significantly toward Athos and Aramis.
“Aha,” said Groslow; “on account of political opinions? No
matter. On the contrary,” he added, laughing, “if they want
to see their Stuart they shall see him.
“Are we to pass the night in the king’s room?” asked
D’Artagnan.
“No, but in the one next to it, and as the door will remain