hem."

"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.

Mousqueton remained glued to the door, awaiting the explanation of this
strange occurrence. What upset him completely was that the four friends
seemed to have no acquaintance with one another.

The house to which D'Artagnan and Portho