Porthos opened his mouth to reply; D’Artagnan made him a sign, and his mouth, remaining silent, gradually closed.
“This moment come, my lord,” said D’Artagnan.
Mazarin breathed again. His fears were now no longer for his hoard, but for himself. A sort of smile played on his lips.
“Come,” he said, “you have me in a snare, gentlemen. I confess myself conquered. You wish to ask for liberty, and—I give it you.”
“Oh, my lord!” answered D’Artagnan, “you are too good; as to our liberty, we have that; we want to ask something else of you.”
“You have your liberty?” repeated Mazarin, in terror.
“Certainly; and on the other hand, my lord, you have lost it, and now, in accordance with the law of war, sir, you must buy it back again.”
Mazarin felt a shiver run through him—a chill even to his heart’s core. His piercing look was fixed in vain on the satirical face of the Gascon and the unchanging countenance of Porthos. Both were in shadow and the Sybil of Cuma herself could not have read them.
“To purchase back my liberty?” said the cardinal.
“Yes, my lord.”