At the same moment a fearful “hurrah!” rent the air and thirty blades glittered about their heads.

Suddenly a man sprang out of the English ranks, fell upon Athos, twined arms of steel around him, and tearing his sword from him, said in his ear: 

“Silence! yield —­ you yield to me, do you not?”

A giant had seized also Aramis’s two wrists, who struggled in vain to release himself from this formidable grasp.

“D’Art ——­ " exclaimed Athos, whilst the Gascon covered his mouth with his hand.

“I am your prisoner,” said Aramis, giving up his sword to Porthos.

“Fire, fire!” cried Mordaunt, returning to the group surrounding the two friends.

“And wherefore fire?” said the colonel; “every one has yielded.”

“It is the son of Milady,” said Athos to D’Artagnan.

“I recognize him.”

“It is the monk,” whispered Porthos to Aramis.

“I know it.”

And now the ranks began to open.  D’Artagnan held the bridle of Athos’s horse and Porthos that of Aramis.  Both of them attempted to lead his prisoner off the battle-field.

This movement revealed the spot where Winter’s body had fallen.  Mordaunt had found it out and was gazing on his dead relative with an expression of malignant hatred.

Athos, though now cool and collected, put his hand to his belt, where his loaded pistols yet remained.

“What are you about?” said D’Artagnan.

“Let me kill him.”

“We are all four lost, if by the least gesture you discover that you recognize him.”

Then turning to the young man he exclaimed: 

“A fine prize! a fine prize, friend Mordaunt; we have both myself and Monsieur du Vallon, taken two Knights of the Garter, nothing less.”

“But,” said Mordaunt, looking at Athos and Aramis with bloodshot eyes, “these are Frenchmen, I imagine.”

“I’faith, I don’t know.  Are you French, sir?” said he to Athos.

“I am,” replied the latter, gravely.

“Very well, my dear sir, you are the prisoner of a fellow countryman.”

“But the king —­ where is the king?” exclaimed Athos, anxiously.

D’Artagnan vigorously seized his prisoner’s hand, saying: 

“Eh! the king?  We have secured him.”

“Yes,” said Aramis, “through an infamous act of treason.”

Porthos pressed his friend’s hand and said to him: 

“Yes, sir, all is fair in war, stratagem as well as force; look yonder!”

At this instant the squadron, that ought to have protected Charles’s retreat, was advancing to meet the English regiments.  The king, who was entirely surrounded, walked alone in a great empty space.  He appeared calm, but it was evidently not without a mighty effort.  Drops of perspiration trickled down his face, and from time to time he put a handkerchief to his mouth to wipe away the blood that rilled from it.