“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 today 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.
LVIII
Jésus 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 Porthos conducted Athos and Aramis was the one assigned to them by General Cromwell and of which they had taken possession on the previous evening. It was at the corner of two streets and had in the rear, bordering on the side street, stables and a sort of garden. The windows on the ground floor, according to a custom in provincial villages, were barred, so that they strongly resembled the windows of a prison.
The two friends made the prisoners enter the house first, whilst they stood at the door, desiring Mousqueton to take the four horses to the stable.
“Why don’t we go in with them?” asked Porthos.
“We must first see what the sergeant wishes us to do,” replied d’Artagnan.
The sergeant and his men took possession of the little garden.
D’Artagnan asked them what they wished and why they had taken that position.
“We have had orders,” answered the man, “to help you in taking care of your prisoners.”
There could be no fault to find with this arrangement; on the contrary, it seemed to be a delicate attention, to be gratefully received; d’Artagnan, therefore, thanked the man and gave him a crown piece to drink to General Cromwell’s health.
The sergeant answered that Puritans never drank, and put the crown piece in his pocket.
“Ah!” said Porthos, “what a fearful day, my dear d’Artagnan!”
“What! a fearful day, when today we find our friends?”
“Yes; but under what circumstances?”
“ ’Tis true that our position is an awkward one; but let us go in and see more clearly what is to be done.”
“Things look black enough,” replied Porthos; “I
