“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.