door so well concealed by the tapestry that the most
practiced eye could not have discovered it. It closed after
him with a spring. This door communicated with a
subterranean passage, leading under the street to a grotto
in the garden of a house about a hundred yards from that of
the future Protector.
It was just before this that Grimaud had perceived the two
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men seated together.
D’Artagnan was the first to recover from his surprise.
“Mordaunt,” he cried. “Ah! by Heaven! it is God Himself who
sent us here.”
“Yes,” said Porthos, “let us break the door in and fall upon
him.”
“No,” replied D’Artagnan, “no noise. Now, Grimaud, you come
here, climb up to the window again and tell us if Mordaunt
is alone and whether he is preparing to go out or go to bed.
If he comes out we shall catch him. If he stays in we will
break in the window. It is easier and less noisy than the
door.”
Grimaud began to scale the wall again.
“Keep guard at the other door, Athos and Aramis. Porthos and
I will stay here.”
The friends obeyed.
“He is alone,” said Grimaud.
“We did not see his companion come out.”
“He may have gone by the other door.”
“What is he doing?”
“Putting on his cloak and gloves.”
“He’s ours,” muttered D’Artagnan.
Porthos mechanically drew his dagger from the scabbard.
“Put it up again, my friend,” said D’Artagnan. “We must
proceed in an orderly manner.”
“Hush!” said Grimaud, “he is coming out. He has put out the
lamp, I can see nothing now.”
“Get down then and quickly.”
Grimaud leaped down. The snow deadened the noise of his
fall.
“Now go and tell Athos and Aramis to stand on each side of
the door and clap their hands if they catch him. We will do
the same.”
The next moment the door opened and Mordaunt appeared on the
threshold, face to face with D’Artagnan. Porthos clapped his
hands and the other two came running around. Mordaunt was
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.
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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
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