“Things look black enough,” replied Porthos; “I understand now why Aramis advised me to strangle that horrible Mordaunt.”
“Silence!” cried the Gascon; “do not utter that name.”
“But,” argued Porthos, “I speak French and they are all English.”
D’Artagnan looked at Porthos with that air of wonder which a cunning man cannot help feeling at displays of crass stupidity.
But as Porthos on his side could not comprehend his astonishment, he merely pushed him indoors, saying, “Let us go in.”
They found Athos in profound despondency; Aramis looked first at Porthos and then at D’Artagnan, without speaking, but the latter understood his meaningful look.
“You want to know how we came here? ’Tis easily guessed. Mazarin sent us with a letter to General Cromwell.”
“But how came you to fall into company with Mordaunt, whom I bade you distrust?” asked Athos.
“And whom I advised you to strangle, Porthos,” said Aramis.
“Mazarin again. Cromwell had sent him to Mazarin. Mazarin sent us to Cromwell. There is a certain fatality in it.”