"On the honour of Mazarin, yes."
"I would rather have another sort of oath than that," said D'Artagnan to himself as he went out.
Just as they were leaving Paris, a letter came from Athos, who had already gone.
"Dear D'Artagnan, dear Porthos,--My friends, perhaps this is the last time you will hear from me. I entrust certain papers which are at Bragelonne to your keeping; if in three months you do not hear of me, take possession of them. May God and the remembrance of our friendship support you always.--Your devoted friend, Athos."
III.--In England
Athos and Aramis were with Charles I. at Newcastle. The king had been sold by the Scotch to the English Parliament, and on the approach of Cromwell's army the king's troops refused to fight. Only fifteen men stood round the king when Cromwell's cavalry came charging down. Lord de Winter was shot dead by his own nephew, who was in Cromwell's army.
"Come, Aramis, now for the honour of France," said Athos, and the two Englishmen who were nearest to them fell mortally wounded.
At the same instant a tremendous shout filled the air, and thirty swords flashed before them. Suddenly a man sprang out of the English ranks, fell upon Athos, wound his muscular arms round him, and tearing his sword from him, said in his ear, "Silence! Yield--you yield to me, don't you?"
A giant from the English ranks at the same moment seized Aramis by the wrists, who struggled in vain to get free.
"I yield myself prisoner," said Aramis, giving up his sword to Porthos.