D’Artagnan swept up the money that he and Porthos had lost and buried it in his huge pocket. Athos and Aramis placed themselves behind him. At this movement Mordaunt turned around, recognized them, and uttered an exclamation of savage delight.
“I’m afraid we are prisoners,” whispered D’Artagnan to his friend.
“Not yet,” replied Porthos.
“Colonel, colonel,” cried Mordaunt, “you are betrayed. These four Frenchmen have escaped from Newcastle, and no doubt want to carry off the king. Arrest them.”
“Ah! my young man,” said D’Artagnan, drawing his sword, “that is an order sooner given than executed. Fly, friends, fly!” he added, whirling his sword around him.
The next moment he darted to the door and knocked down two of the soldiers who guarded it, before they had time to cock their muskets. Athos and Aramis followed him. Porthos brought up the rear, and before soldiers, officers, or colonel had time to recover their surprise all four were in the street.
“Fire!” cried Mordaunt; “fire upon them!”
Three or four shots were fired, but with no other result than to show the four fugitives turning the corner of the street safe and sound.
The horses were at the place fixed upon, and they leaped lightly into their saddles.
“Forward!” cried D’Artagnan, “and spur for your dear lives!”