pen. 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!