to London without stopping day or night. Prepare yourself,
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then, to start at once.”
“And by whom is this order given?” asked the king.
“By General Oliver Cromwell. And here is Mr. Mordaunt, who
has brought it and is charged with its execution.”
“Mordaunt!” muttered the four friends, exchanging glances.
D’Artagnan swept up the money that he and Porthos had lost
and buried it in his huge pocket. Athos and Aramis placed
themselves behind him. At this movement Mordaunt turned
around, recognized them, and uttered an exclamation of
savage delight.
“I’m afraid we are prisoners,” whispered D’Artagnan to his
friend.
“Not yet,” replied Porthos.
“Colonel, colonel,” cried Mordaunt, “you are betrayed. These
four Frenchmen have escaped from Newcastle, and no doubt
want to carry off the king. Arrest them.”
“Ah! my young man,” said D’Artagnan, drawing his sword,
“that is an order sooner given than executed. Fly, friends,
fly!” he added, whirling his sword around him.
The next moment he darted to the door and knocked down two
of the soldiers who guarded it, before they had time to cock
their muskets. Athos and Aramis followed him. Porthos
brought up the rear, and before soldiers, officers, or
colonel had time to recover their surprise all four were in
the street.
“Fire!” cried Mordaunt; “fire upon them!”
Three or four shots were fired, but with no other result
than to show the four fugitives turning the corner of the
street safe and sound.
The horses were at the place fixed upon, and they leaped
lightly into their saddles.
“Forward!” cried D’Artagnan, “and spur for your dear lives!”
They galloped away and took the road they had come by in the
morning, namely, in the direction toward Scotland. A few
hundred yards beyond the town D’Artagnan drew rein.
“Halt!” he cried, “this time we shall be pursued. We must
let them leave the village and ride after us on the northern
road, and when they have passed we will take the opposite
direction.”
There was a stream close by and a bridge across it.
D’Artagnan led his horse under the arch of the bridge. The
others followed. Ten minutes later they heard the rapid
gallop of a troop of horsemen. A few minutes more and the
troop passed over their heads.
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62
London.
As soon as the noise of the hoofs was lost in the distance
D’Artagnan remounted the bank of the stream and scoured the
plain, followed by his three friends, directing their
course, as well as they could guess, toward London.
“This time,” said D’Artagnan, when they were sufficiently
distant to proceed at a trot, “I think all is lost and we
have nothing better to do than to reach France. What do you
say, Athos, to that proposition? Isn’t it reasonable?”
“Yes, dear friend,” Athos replied, “but you said a word the
other day that was more than reasonable — it was noble and
generous. You said, `Let us die here!’ I recall to you that
word.”
“Oh,” said Porthos, “death is nothing: it isn’t death that
can disquiet us, since we don’t know what it is. What
troubles me is the idea of defeat. As things are turning
out, I foresee that we must give battle to London, to the
provinces, to all England, and certainly in the end we can’t
fail to be beaten.”
“We ought to witness this great tragedy even to its last
scene,” said Athos. “Whatever happens, let us not leave
England before the crisis. Don’t you agree with me, Aramis?”
“Entirely, my dear count. Then, too, I confess I should not
be sorry to come across Mordaunt again. It appears to me
that we have an account to settle with him, and that it is
not our custom to leave a place without paying our debts, of
this kind, at least.”
“Ah! that’s another thing,” said D’Artagnan, “and I should
not mind waiting in London a whole year for a chance of
meeting this Mordaunt in question. Only let us lodge with
some one on whom we can count; for I imagine, just now, that
Noll Cromwell would not be inclined to trifle with us.