Charles was indeed in the midst of them, his hat on his head, his brows
bent, striking his boot with his riding whip.
"Yes, gentlemen, the king in person, the king who has come to ask for
some account of what has happened."
"What is the matter, sire?" exclaimed Lord Leven.
"It is this, sir," said the king, angrily, "that General Cromwell has
reached Newcastle; that you knew it and I was not informed of it; that
the enemy have left the town and are now closing the passages of the
Tyne against us; that our sentinels have seen this movement and I have
been left unacquainted with it; that, by an infamous treaty you have
sold me for two hundred thousand pounds to Parliament. Of this treaty,
at least, I have been warned. This is the matter, gentlemen; answer and
exculpate yourselves, for I stand here to accuse you."
"Sire," said Lord Leven, with hesitation, "sire, your majesty has been
deceived by false reports."
"My own eyes have seen the enemy extend itself between myself and
Scotland; and I can almost say that with my own ears I have heard the
clauses of the treaty debated."
The Scotch chieftains looked at each other in their turn with frowning
brows.
"Sire," murmured Lord Leven, crushed by shame, "sire, we are ready to
give you every proof of our fidelity."
"I ask but one," said the king; "put the army in battle array and face
the enemy."
"That cannot be, sire," said the earl.
"How, cannot be? What hinders it?" exclaimed the king.
"Your majesty is well aware that there is a truce between us and the
English army."
"And if there is a truce the English army has broken it by quitting the
town, contrary to the agreement which kept it there. Now, I tell you,
you must pass with me through this army across to Scotland, and if you
refuse you may choose betwixt two names, which the contempt of all
honest men will brand you with--you are either cowards or traitors!"
The eyes of the Scotch flashed fire; and, as often happens on such
occasions, from shame they passed to effrontery and two heads of clans
advanced upon the king.
"Yes," said they, "we have promised to deliver Scotland and England from
him who for the last five-and-twenty years has sucked the blood and gold
of Scotland and England. We have promised and we will keep our promise.
Charles Stuart, you are our prisoner."
And both extended their hands as if to seize the king, but before they
could touch him with the tips of their fingers, both had fallen, one
dead, the other stunned.
Aramis had passed his sword through the body of the first and Athos had
knocked down the other with the butt end of his pistol.
Then, as Lord Leven and the other chieftains recoiled before this
unexpected rescue, which seemed to come from Heaven for the prince they
already thought was their prisoner, Athos and Aramis dragged the king
from the perjured assembly into which he had so imprudently ventured,
and throwing themselves on horseback all three returned at full gallop
to the royal tent.
On their road they perceived Lord Winter marching at the head of his
regiment. The king motioned him to accompany them.
56. The Avenger.
They all four entered the tent; they had no plan ready--they must think
of one.
The king threw himself into an arm-chair. "I am lost," said he.
"No, sire," replied Athos. "You are only betrayed."
The king sighed deeply.
"Betrayed! yes betrayed by the Scotch, amongst whom I was born, whom I
have always loved better than the English. Oh, traitors that ye are!"
"Sire," said Athos, "this is not a moment for recrimination, but a time
to show yourself a king and a gentleman. Up, sire! up! for you have here
at least three men who will not betray you. Ah! if we had been five!"
murmured Athos, thinking of D’Artagnan and Porthos.
"What do you say?" inquired Charles, rising.
"I say, sire, that there is now but one way open. Lord Winter answers
for his regiment, or at least very nearly so--we will not split straws
about words--let him place himself at the head of his men, we will place
ourselves at the side of your majesty, and we will mow a swath through
Cromwell’s army and reach Scotland."
"There is another method," said Aramis. "Let one of us put on the dress
and mount the king’s horse. Whilst they pursue him the king might
escape."
"It is good advice," said Athos, "and if the king will do one of us the
honor we shall be truly grateful to him."
"What do you think of this counsel, Winter?" asked the king, looking
with admiration at these two men, whose chief idea seemed to be how they
could take on their shoulders all the dangers that assailed him.
"I think the only chance of saving your majesty has just been proposed
by Monsieur d’Herblay. I humbly entreat your majesty to choose quickly,
for we have not an instant to lose."
"But if I accept, it is death, or at least imprisonment, for him who
takes my place."
"He will have had the glory of having saved his king," cried Winter.
The king looked at his old friend with tears in his eyes; undid the
Order of the Saint Esprit which he wore, to honor the two Frenchmen who
were with him, and passed it around Winter’s neck, who received on his
knees this striking proof of his sovereign’s confidence and friendship.
"It is right," said Athos; "he has served your majesty longer than we
have."
The king overheard these words and turned around with tears in his eyes.
"Wait a moment, sir," said he; "I have an order for each of you also."
He turned to a closet where his own orders were locked up, and took out
two ribbons of the Order of the Garter.
"These cannot be for us," said Athos.
"Why not, sir?" asked Charles.
"Such are for royalty, and we are simple commoners."
"Speak not of crowns. I shall not find amongst them such great hearts as
yours. No, no, you do yourselves injustice; but I am here to do you
justice. On your knees, count."
Athos knelt down and the king passed the ribbon down from left to right
as usual, raised his sword, and instead of pronouncing the customary
formula, "I make you a knight. Be brave, faithful and loyal," he said,
"You are brave, faithful and loyal. I knight you, monsieur le comte."
Then turning to Aramis, he said:
"It is now your turn, monsieur le chevalier."
The same ceremony recommenced, with the same words, whilst Winter
unlaced his leather cuirass, that he might disguise himself like the
king. Charles, having proceeded with Aramis as with Athos, embraced them
both.
"Sire," said Winter, who in this trying emergency felt all his strength
and energy fire up, "we are ready."
The king looked at the three gentlemen. "Then we must fly!" said he.
"Flying through an army, sire," said Athos, "in all countries in the
world is called charging."
"Then I shall die, sword in hand," said Charles. "Monsieur le comte,
monsieur le chevalier, if ever I am king----"
"Sire, you have already done us more honor than simple gentlemen could
ever aspire to, therefore gratitude is on our side. But we must not lose
time. We have already wasted too much."
The king again shook hands with all three, exchanged hats with Winter
and went out.
Winter’s regiment was ranged on some high ground above the camp. The
king, followed by the three friends, turned his steps that way. The
Scotch camp seemed as if at last awakened; the soldiers had come out of
their tents and taken up their station in battle array.
"Do you see that?" said the king. "Perhaps they are penitent and
preparing to march."
"If they are penitent," said Athos, "let them follow us."
"Well!" said the king, "what shall we do?"
"Let us examine the enemy’s army."
At the same instant the eyes of the little group were fixed on the same
line which at daybreak they had mistaken for fog and which the morning
sun now plainly showed was an army in order of battle. The air was soft
and clear, as it generally is at that early hour of the morning. The
regiments, the standards, and even the colors of the horses and uniforms
were now clearly distinct.
On the summit of a rising ground, a little in advance of the enemy,
appeared a short and heavy looking man; this man was surrounded by
officers. He turned a spyglass toward the little group amongst which the
king stood.
"Does this man know your majesty personally?" inquired Aramis.
Charles smiled.
"That man is Cromwell," said he.
"Then draw down your hat, sire, that he may not discover the
substitution."
"Ah!" said Athos, "how much time we have lost."
"Now," said the king, "give the word and let us start."
"Will you not give it, sire?" asked Athos.
"No; I make you my lieutenant-general," said the king.
"Listen, then, Lord Winter. Proceed, sire, I beg. What we are going to
say does not concern your majesty."
The king, smiling, turned a few steps back.
"This is what I propose to do," said Athos. "We will divide our
regiments into two squadrons. You will put yourself at the head of the
first. We and his majesty will lead the second. If no obstacle occurs we
will both charge together, force the enemy’s line and throw ourselves
into the Tyne, which we must cross, either by fording or swimming; if,
on the contrary, any repulse should take place, you and your men must
fight to the last man, whilst we and the king proceed on our road. Once
arrived at the brink of the river, should we even find them three ranks
deep, as long as you and your regiment do your duty, we will look to the
rest."
"To horse!" said Lord Winter.
"To horse!" re-echoed Athos; "everything is arranged and decided."
"Now, gentlemen," cried the king, "forward! and rally to the old cry of
France, ’Montjoy and St. Denis!’ The war cry of England is too often in
the mouths of traitors."
They mounted--the king on Winter’s horse and Winter on that of the king;
then Winter took his place at the head of the first squadron, and the
king, with Athos on his right and Aramis on his left, at the head of the
second.
The Scotch army stood motionless and silent, seized with shame at sight
of these preparations.
Some of the chieftains left the ranks and broke their swords in two.
"There," said the king, "that consoles me; they are not all traitors."
At this moment Winter’s voice was raised with the cry of "Forward!"
The first squadron moved off; the second followed, and descended from
the plateau. A regiment of cuirassiers, nearly equal as to numbers,
issued from behind the hill and came full gallop toward it.
The king pointed this out.
"Sire," said Athos, "we foresaw this; and if Lord Winter’s men but do
their duty, we are saved, instead of lost."
At this moment they heard above all the galloping and neighing of the
horses Winter’s voice crying out:
"Sword in hand!"
At these words every sword was drawn, and glittered in the air like
lightning.
"Now, gentlemen," said the king in his turn, excited by this sight,
"come, gentlemen, sword in hand!"
But Aramis and Athos were the only ones to obey this command and the
king’s example.
"We are betrayed," said the king in a low voice.
"Wait a moment," said Athos, "perhaps they do not recognize your
majesty’s voice, and await the order of their captain."
"Have they not heard that of their colonel? But look! look!" cried the
king, drawing up his horse with a sudden jerk, which threw it on its
haunches, and seizing the bridle of Athos’s horse.
"Ah, cowards! traitors!" screamed Lord Winter, whose voice they heard,
whilst his men, quitting their ranks, dispersed all over the plain.
About fifteen men were ranged around him and awaited the charge of
Cromwell’s cuirassiers.
"Let us go and die with them!" said the king.
"Let us go," said Athos and Aramis.
"All faithful hearts with me!" cried out Winter.
This voice was heard by the two friends, who set off, full gallop.
"No quarter!" cried a voice in French, answering to that of Winter,
which made them tremble.
As for Winter, at the sound of that voice he turned pale, and was, as it
were, petrified.
It was the voice of a cavalier mounted on a magnificent black horse, who
was charging at the head of the English regiment, of which, in his
ardor, he was ten steps in advance.
"’Tis he!" murmured Winter, his eyes glazed and he allowed his sword to
fall to his side.
"The king! the king!" cried out several voices, deceived by the blue
ribbon and chestnut horse of Winter; "take him alive."
"No! it is not the king!" exclaimed the cavalier. "Lord Winter, you are
not the king; you are my uncle."
At the same moment Mordaunt, for it was he, leveled his pistol at
Winter; it went off and the ball entered the heart of the old cavalier,
who with one bound on his saddle fell back into the arms of Athos,
murmuring: "He is avenged!"
"Think of my mother!" shouted Mordaunt, as his horse plunged and darted
off at full gallop.
"Wretch!" exclaimed Aramis, raising his pistol as he passed by him; but
the powder flashed in the pan and it did not go off.
At this moment the whole regiment came up and they fell upon the few men
who had held out, surrounding the two Frenchmen. Athos, after making
sure that Lord Winter was really dead, let fall the corpse and said:
"Come, Aramis, now for the honor of France!" and the two Englishmen who
were nearest to them fell, mortally wounded.
At the same moment a fearful "hurrah!" rent the air and thirty blades
glittered about their heads.
Suddenly a man sprang out of the English ranks, fell upon Athos, twined
arms of steel around him, and tearing his sword from him, said in his
ear:
"Silence! yield--you yield to me, do you not?"
A giant had seized also Aramis’s two wrists, who struggled in vain to
release himself from this formidable grasp.
"D’Art----" exclaimed Athos, whilst the Gascon covered his mouth with
his hand.
"I am your prisoner," said Aramis, giving up his sword to Porthos.
"Fire, fire!" cried Mordaunt, returning to the group surrounding the two
friends.
"And wherefore fire?" said the colonel; "every one has yielded."
"It is the son of Milady," said Athos to D’Artagnan.
"I recognize him."
"It is the monk," whispered Porthos to Aramis.
"I know it."
And now the ranks began to open. D’Artagnan held the bridle of Athos’s
horse and Porthos that of Aramis. Both of them attempted to lead his
prisoner off the battle-field.
This movement revealed the spot where Winter’s body had fallen. Mordaunt
had found it out and was gazing on his dead relative with an expression
of malignant hatred.
Athos, though now cool and collected, put his hand to his belt, where
his loaded pistols yet remained.
"What are you about?" said D’Artagnan.
"Let me kill him."
"We are all four lost, if by the least gesture you discover that you
recognize him."
Then turning to the young man he exclaimed:
"A fine prize! a fine prize, friend Mordaunt; we have both myself and
Monsieur du Vallon, taken two Knights of the Garter, nothing less."
"But," said Mordaunt, looking at Athos and Aramis with bloodshot eyes,
"these are Frenchmen, I imagine."
"I’faith, I don’t know. Are you French, sir?" said he to Athos.
"I am," replied the latter, gravely.
"Very well, my dear sir, you are the prisoner of a fellow countryman."
"But the king--where is the king?" exclaimed Athos, anxiously.
D’Artagnan vigorously seized his prisoner’s hand, saying:
"Eh! the king? We have secured him."
"Yes," said Aramis, "through an infamous act of treason."
Porthos pressed his friend’s hand and said to him:
"Yes, sir, all is fair in war, stratagem as well as force; look yonder!"
At this instant the squadron, that ought to have protected Charles’s
retreat, was advancing to meet the English regiments. The king, who was
entirely surrounded, walked alone in a great empty space. He appeared
calm, but it was evidently not without a mighty effort. Drops of
perspiration trickled down his face, and from time to time he put a
handkerchief to his mouth to wipe away the blood that rilled from it.
"Behold Nebuchadnezzar!" exclaimed an old Puritan soldier, whose eyes
flashed at the sight of the man they called the tyrant.
"Do you call him Nebuchadnezzar?" said Mordaunt, with a terrible smile;
"no, it is Charles the First, the king, the good King Charles, who
despoils his subjects to enrich himself."
Charles glanced a moment at the insolent creature who uttered this, but
did not recognize him. Nevertheless, the calm religious dignity of his
countenance abashed Mordaunt.
"Bon jour, messieurs!" said the king to the two gentlemen who were held
by D’Artagnan and Porthos. "The day has been unfortunate, but it is not
your fault, thank God! But where is my old friend Winter?"
The two gentlemen turned away their heads in silence.
"In Strafford’s company," said Mordaunt, tauntingly.
Charles shuddered. The demon had known how to wound him. The remembrance
of Strafford was a source of lasting remorse to him, the shadow that
haunted him by day and night. The king looked around him. He saw a
corpse at his feet. It was Winter’s. He uttered not a word, nor shed a
tear, but a deadly pallor spread over his face; he knelt down on the
ground, raised Winter’s head, and unfastening the Order of the Saint
Esprit, placed it on his own breast.
"Lord Winter is killed, then?" inquired D’Artagnan, fixing his eyes on
the corpse.
"Yes," said Athos, "by his own nephew."
"Come, he was the first of us to go; peace be to him! he was an honest
man," said D’Artagnan.
"Charles Stuart," said the colonel of the English regiment, approaching
the king, who had just put on the insignia of royalty, "do you yield
yourself a prisoner?"
"Colonel Tomlison," said Charles, "kings cannot yield; the man alone
submits to force."
"Your sword."
The king drew his sword and broke it on his knee.
At this moment a horse without a rider, covered with foam, his nostrils
extended and eyes all fire, galloped up, and recognizing his master,
stopped and neighed with pleasure; it was Arthur.
The king smiled, patted it with his hand and jumped lightly into the
saddle.
"Now, gentlemen," said he, "conduct me where you will."
Turning back again, he said, "I thought I saw Winter move; if he still
lives, by all you hold most sacred, do not abandon him."
"Never fear, King Charles," said Mordaunt, "the bullet pierced his
heart."
"Do not breathe a word nor make the least sign to me or Porthos," said
D’Artagnan to Athos and Aramis, "that you recognize this man, for Milady
is not dead; her soul lives in the body of this demon."
The detachment now moved toward the town with the royal captive; but on
the road an aide-de-camp, from Cromwell, sent orders that Colonel
Tomlison should conduct him to Holdenby Castle.
At the same time couriers started in every direction over England and
Europe to announce that Charles Stuart was the prisoner of Oliver
Cromwell.
57. Oliver Cromwell.
Have you been to the general?" said Mordaunt to D’Artagnan and Porthos;
"you know he sent for you after the action."
"We want first to put our prisoners in a place of safety," replied
D’Artagnan. "Do you know, sir, these gentlemen are each of them worth
fifteen hundred pounds?"
"Oh, be assured," said Mordaunt, looking at them with an expression he
vainly endeavoured to soften, "my soldiers will guard them, and guard
them well, I promise you."
"I shall take better care of them myself," answered D’Artagnan;
"besides, all they require is a good room, with sentinels, or their
simple parole that they will not attempt escape. I will go and see about
that, and then we shall have the honor of presenting ourselves to the
general and receiving his commands for his eminence."
"You think of starting at once, then?" inquired Mordaunt.
"Our mission is ended, and there is nothing more to detain us now but
the good pleasure of the great man to whom we were sent."
The young man bit his lips and whispered to his sergeant:
"You will follow these men and not lose sight of them; when you have
discovered where they lodge, come and await me at the town gate."
The sergeant made a sign of comprehension.
Instead of following the knot of prisoners that were being taken into
the town, Mordaunt turned his steps toward the rising ground from whence
Cromwell had witnessed the battle and on which he had just had his tent
pitched.
Cromwell had given orders that no one was to be allowed admission; but
the sentinel, who knew that Mordaunt was one of the most confidential
friends of the general, thought the order did not extend to the young
man. Mordaunt, therefore, raised the canvas, and saw Cromwell seated
before a table, his head buried in his hands, his back being turned.
Whether he heard Mordaunt or not as he entered, Cromwell did not move.
Mordaunt remained standing near the door. At last, after a few moments,
Cromwell raised his head, and, as if he divined that some one was there,
turned slowly around.
"I said I wished to be alone," he exclaimed, on seeing the young man.
"They thought this order did not concern me, sir; nevertheless, if you
wish it, I am ready to go."
"Ah! is it you, Mordaunt?" said Cromwell, the cloud passing away from
his face; "since you are here, it is well; you may remain."
"I come to congratulate you."
"To congratulate me--what for?"
"On the capture of Charles Stuart. You are now master of England."
"I was much more really so two hours ago."
"How so, general?"
"Because England had need of me to take the tyrant, and now the tyrant
is taken. Have you seen him?"
"Yes, sir." said Mordaunt.
"What is his bearing?"
Mordaunt hesitated; but it seemed as though he was constrained to tell
the truth.
"Calm and dignified," said he.
"What did he say?"
"Some parting words to his friends."
"His friends!" murmured Cromwell. "Has he any friends?" Then he added
aloud, "Did he make any resistance?"
"No, sir, with the exception of two or three friends every one deserted
him; he had no means of resistance."
"To whom did he give up his sword?"
"He did not give it up; he broke it."
"He did well; but instead of breaking it, he might have used it to still
more advantage."
There was a momentary pause.
"I heard that the colonel of the regiment that escorted Charles was
killed," said Cromwell, staring very fixedly at Mordaunt.
"Yes, sir."
"By whom?" inquired Cromwell.
"By me."
"What was his name?"
"Lord Winter."
"Your uncle?" exclaimed Cromwell.
"My uncle," answered Mordaunt; "but traitors to England are no longer
members of my family."
Cromwell observed the young man a moment in silence, then, with that
profound melancholy Shakespeare describes so well:
"Mordaunt," he said, "you are a terrible servant."
"When the Lord commands," said Mordaunt, "His commands are not to be
disputed. Abraham raised the knife against Isaac, and Isaac was his
son."
"Yes," said Cromwell, "but the Lord did not suffer that sacrifice to be
accomplished."
"I have looked around me," said Mordaunt, "and I have seen neither goat
nor kid caught among the bushes of the plain."
Cromwell bowed. "You are strong among the strong, Mordaunt," he said;
"and the Frenchmen, how did they behave?"
"Most fearlessly."
"Yes, yes," murmured Cromwell; "the French fight well; and if my glass
was good and I mistake not, they were foremost in the fight."
"They were," replied Mordaunt.
"After you, however," said Cromwell.
"It was the fault of their horses, not theirs."
Another pause.
"And the Scotch?"
"They kept their word and never stirred," said Mordaunt.
"Wretched men!"
"Their officers wish to see you, sir."
"I have no time to see them. Are they paid?"
"Yes, to-night."
"Let them be off and return to their own country, there to hide their
shame, if its hills are high enough; I have nothing more to do with them
nor they with me. And now go, Mordaunt."
"Before I go," said Mordaunt, "I have some questions and a favor to ask
you, sir."
"A favor from me?"
Mordaunt bowed.
"I come to you, my leader, my head, my father, and I ask you, master,
are you contented with me?"
Cromwell looked at him with astonishment. The young man remained
immovable.
"Yes," said Cromwell; "you have done, since I knew you, not only your
duty, but more than your duty; you have been a faithful friend, a
cautious negotiator, a brave soldier."
"Do you remember, sir it was my idea, the Scotch treaty, for giving up
the king?"
"Yes, the idea was yours. I had no such contempt for men before."
"Was I not a good ambassador in France?"
"Yes, for Mazarin has granted what I desire."
"Have I not always fought for your glory and interests?"
"Too ardently, perhaps; it is what I have just reproached you for. But
what is the meaning of all these questions?"
"To tell you, my lord, that the moment has now arrived when, with a
single word, you may recompense all these services."
"Oh!" said Oliver, with a slight curl of his lip, "I forgot that every
service merits some reward and that up to this moment you have not been
paid."
"Sir, I can take my pay at this moment, to the full extent of my
wishes."
"How is that?"
"I have the payment under my hand; I almost possess it."
"What is it? Have they offered you money? Do you wish a step, or some
place in the government?"
"Sir, will you grant me my request?"
"Let us hear what it is, first."
"Sir, when you have told me to obey an order did I ever answer, ’Let me
see that order ’?"
"If, however, your wish should be one impossible to fulfill?"
"When you have cherished a wish and have charged me with its
fulfillment, have I ever replied, ’It is impossible’?"
"But a request preferred with so much preparation----"
"Ah, do not fear, sir," said Mordaunt, with apparent simplicity: "it
will not ruin you."
"Well, then," said Cromwell, "I promise, as far as lies in my power, to
grant your request; proceed."
"Sir, two prisoners were taken this morning, will you let me have them?"
"For their ransom? have they then offered a large one?" inquired
Cromwell.
"On the contrary, I think they are poor, sir."
"They are friends of yours, then?"
"Yes, sir," exclaimed Mordaunt, "they are friends, dear friends of mine,
and I would lay down my life for them."
"Very well, Mordaunt," exclaimed Cromwell, pleased at having his opinion
of the young man raised once more; "I will give them to you; I will not
even ask who they are; do as you like with them."
"Thank you, sir!" exclaimed Mordaunt, "thank you; my life is always at
your service, and should I lose it I should still owe you something;
thank you; you have indeed repaid me munificently for my services."
He threw himself at the feet of Cromwell, and in spite of the efforts of
the Puritan general, who did not like this almost kingly homage, he took
his hand and kissed it.
"What!" said Cromwell, arresting him for a moment as he arose; "is there
nothing more you wish? neither gold nor rank?"
"You have given me all you can give me, and from to-day your debt is
paid."
And Mordaunt darted out of the general’s tent, his heart beating and his
eyes sparkling with joy.
Cromwell gazed a moment after him.
"He has slain his uncle!" he murmured. "Alas! what are my servants?
Possibly this one, who asks nothing or seems to ask nothing, has asked
more in the eyes of Heaven than those who tax the country and steal the
bread of the poor. Nobody serves me for nothing. Charles, who is my
prisoner, may still have friends, but I have none!"
And with a deep sigh he again sank into the reverie that had been
interrupted by Mordaunt.
58. Jesus Seigneur.
Whilst Mordaunt was making his way to Cromwell’s tent, D’Artagnan and
Porthos had brought their prisoners to the house which had been assigned
to them as their dwelling at Newcastle.
The order given by Mordaunt to the sergeant had been heard by
D’Artagnan, who accordingly, by an expressive glance, warned Athos and
Aramis to exercise extreme caution. The prisoners, therefore, had
remained silent as they marched along in company with their
conquerors--which they could do with the less difficulty since each of
them had occupation enough in answering his own thoughts.
It would be impossible to describe Mousqueton’s astonishment when from
the threshold of the door he saw the four friends approaching, followed
by a sergeant with a dozen men. He rubbed his eyes, doubting if he
really saw before him Athos and Aramis; and forced at last to yield to
evidence, he was on the point of breaking forth in exclamations when he
encountered a glance from the eyes of Porthos, the repressive force of
which he was not inclined to dispute. |
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