thou dost not let thyself be cut in quarters for him, I will
cut out thy tongue. Remember that.”
Olivain bowed and slipped the crown into his pocket.
“And now, Raoul,” said the Gascon, “Monsieur du Vallon and I
are going away as ambassadors, where, I know not; but should
you want anything, write to Madame Turquaine, at La
Chevrette, Rue Tiquetonne and draw upon her purse as on a
banker — with economy; for it is not so well filled as that
of Monsieur d’Emery.”
And having, meantime, embraced his ward, he passed him into
the robust arms of Porthos, who lifted him up from the
ground and held him a moment suspended near the noble heart
of the formidable giant.
“Come,” said D’Artagnan, “let us go.”
And they set out for Boulogne, where toward evening they
arrived, their horses flecked with foam and dark with
perspiration.
At ten steps from the place where they halted was a young
man in black, who seemed waiting for some one, and who, from
the moment he saw them enter the town, never took his eyes
off them.
D’Artagnan approached him, and seeing him stare so fixedly,
said:
“Well, friend! I don’t like people to quiz me!”
“Sir,” said the young man, “do you not come from Paris, if
you please?”
D’Artagnan thought it was some gossip who wanted news from
the capital.
“Yes, sir,” he said, in a softened tone.
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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
“Are you not going to put up at the `Arms of England’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you not charged with a mission from his eminence,
Cardinal Mazarin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In that case, I am the man you have to do with. I am M.
Mordaunt.”
“Ah!” thought D’Artagnan, “the man I am warned against by
Athos.”
“Ah!” thought Porthos, “the man Aramis wants me to
strangle.”
They both looked searchingly at the young man, who
misunderstood the meaning of that inquisition.
“Do you doubt my word?” he said. “In that case I can give
you proofs.”
“No, sir,” said D’Artagnan; “and we place ourselves at your
orders.”
“Well, gentlemen,” resumed Mordaunt, “we must set out
without delay, to-day is the last day granted me by the
cardinal. My ship is ready, and had you not come I must have
set off without you, for General Cromwell expects my return
impatiently.”
“So!” thought the lieutenant, “’tis to General Cromwell that
our dispatches are addressed.”
“Have you no letter for him?” asked the young man.
“I have one, the seal of which I am not to break till I
reach London; but since you tell me to whom it is addressed,
’tis useless to wait till then.”
D’Artagnan tore open the envelope of the letter. It was
directed to “Monsieur Oliver Cromwell, General of the Army
of the English Nation.”
“Ah!” said D’Artagnan; “a singular commission.”
“Who is this Monsieur Oliver Cromwell?” inquired Porthos.
“Formerly a brewer,” replied the Gascon.
“Perhaps Mazarin wishes to make a speculation in beer, as we
did in straw,” said Porthos.
“Come, come, gentlemen,” said Mordaunt, impatiently, “let us
depart.”
“What!” exclaimed Porthos “without supper? Cannot Monsieur
Cromwell wait a little?”
“Yes, but I?” said Mordaunt.
“Well, you,” said Porthos, “what then?”
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“I cannot wait.”
“Oh! as to you, that is not my concern, and I shall sup
either with or without your permission.”
The young man’s eyes kindled in secret, but he restrained
himself.
“Monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, “you must excuse famished
travelers. Besides, our supper can’t delay you much. We will
hasten on to the inn; you will meanwhile proceed on foot to
the harbor. We will take a bite and shall be there as soon
as you are.”
“Just as you please, gentlemen, provided we set sail,” he
said.
“The name of your ship?” inquired D’Artagnan.
“The Standard.”
“Very well; in half an hour we shall be on board.”
And the friends, spurring on their horses, rode to the
hotel, the “Arms of England.”
“What do you say of that young man?” asked D’Artagnan, as
they hurried along.
“I say that he doesn’t suit me at all,” said Porthos, “and
that I feel a strong itching to follow Aramis’s advice.”