“At least that will conciliate us all,” said Aramis.
“I should never have thought of that,” said Porthos, “and yet it is very simple.”
“Come, Aramis,” said D’Artagnan, “write this for us in those neat little characters in which you wrote to Marie Michon that the mother of this gentleman intended to assassinate the Duke of Buckingham.”
Mordaunt sustained this new attack without wincing. He stood with his arms folded, apparently as calm as any man could be in such circumstances. If he had not courage he had what is very like it, namely, pride.
Aramis went to Cromwell’s desk, tore off three bits of paper of equal size, wrote on the first his own name and on the others those of his two companions, and presented them open to Mordaunt, who by a movement of his head indicated that he left the matter entirely to Aramis. He then rolled them separately and put them in a hat, which he handed to Mordaunt.
Mordaunt put his hand into the hat, took out one of the three papers and disdainfully dropped it on the table without reading it.
“Ah! serpent,” muttered D’Artagnan, “I would give my chance of a captaincy in the mousquetaires for that to be my name.”
Aramis opened the paper, and in a voice trembling with hate and vengeance read “D’Artagnan.”
The Gascon uttered a cry of joy and turning to Mordaunt:
“I hope, sir,” said he, “you have no objection to make.”