As for Porthos, he looked inquiringly at D’Artagnan.
This look of Porthos’s made the Gascon regret that he had summoned the brute force of his friend to aid him in an affair which seemed to require chiefly cunning.
“Violence,” he said to himself, “would spoil all; 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.