ll; D'Artagnan, my friend,
prove to this young serpent that thou art not only stronger, but more
subtle than he is."

"Ah!" he said, making a low bow, "why did you not begin by saying that,
Monsieur Mordaunt? What! are you sent by General Oliver Cromwell, the
most illustrious captain of the age?"

"I have this instant left him," replied Mordaunt, alighting, in order to
give his horse to a soldier to hold.

"Why did you not say so at once, my dear sir! all England is with
Cromwell; and since you ask for my prisoners, I bend, sir, to your
wishes. They are yours; take them."

Mordaunt, delighted, advanced, Porthos looking at D'Artagnan with
open-mouthed astonishment. Then D'Artagnan trod on his foot and Porthos
began to understand that this was merely acting.

Mordaunt put his foot on the first step of the door and, with his hat in
hand, prepared to pass by the two friends, motioning to the four men to
follow him.

"But, pardon," said D'Artagnan, with the most charming smile and putting
his hand on the young man's shoulder, "if the illustrious General
Oliver Cromwell has disposed of our prisoners in your favour, he has, of
course, made that act of donation in writing."

Mordaunt stopped short.

"He has given you some little writing for me--the least bit of paper
which may show that you come in his name. Be pleased to give me
that scrap of paper so that I may justify, by a pretext at least, my
abandoning my countrymen. Otherwise, you see, although I am sure that
General Oliver Cromwell can intend them no harm, it would have a bad
appearance."

Mordaunt recoiled; he felt the blow and discharged a terrible look
at D'Artagnan, who responded by the most amiable expression that ever
graced a human countenance.

"When I tell you a thing, sir," said Mordaunt, "you insult me by
doubting it."

"I!" cried D'Artagnan, "I doubt what you say! God keep me from it, my
dear Monsieur Mordaunt! On the contrary, I take you to be a worthy and
accomplished gentleman. And then, sir, do you wish me to speak freely to
you?" continued D'Artagnan, with his frank expression.

"Speak out, sir," said Mordaunt.

"Monsieur du Vallon, yonder, is rich and has forty thousand francs
yearly, so he does not care about money. I do not speak for him, but for
myself."

"Well, sir? What more?"

"Well--I--I'm not rich. In Gascony 'tis no dishonor, sir, nobody
is rich; and Henry IV., of glorious memory, who was the king of the
Gascons, as His M