Mordaunt, delighted, advanced, Porthos looking at D’Artagnan with open-mouthed astonishment.  Then D’Artagnan trod on his foot and Porthos began to understand that this was merely acting.

Mordaunt put his foot on the first step of the door and, with his hat in hand, prepared to pass by the two friends, motioning to the four men to follow him.

“But, pardon,” said D’Artagnan, with the most charming smile and putting his hand on the young man’s shoulder, “if the illustrious General Oliver Cromwell has disposed of our prisoners in your favour, he has, of course, made that act of donation in writing.”

Mordaunt stopped short.

“He has given you some little writing for me —­ the least bit of paper which may show that you come in his name.  Be pleased to give me that scrap of paper so that I may justify, by a pretext at least, my abandoning my countrymen.  Otherwise, you see, although I am sure that General Oliver Cromwell can intend them no harm, it would have a bad appearance.”

Mordaunt recoiled; he felt the blow and discharged a terrible look at D’Artagnan, who responded by the most amiable expression that ever graced a human countenance.

“When I tell you a thing, sir,” said Mordaunt, “you insult me by doubting it.”

“I!” cried D’Artagnan, “I doubt what you say!” God keep me from it, my dear Monsieur Mordaunt!  On the contrary, I take you to be a worthy and accomplished gentleman.  And then, sir, do you wish me to speak freely to you?” continued D’Artagnan, with his frank expression.

“Speak out, sir,” said Mordaunt.

“Monsieur du Vallon, yonder, is rich and has forty thousand francs yearly, so he does not care about money.  I do not speak for him, but for myself.”

“Well, sir?  What more?”

“Well —­ I —­ I’m not rich.  In Gascony ’tis no dishonor, sir, nobody is rich; and Henry IV., of glorious memory, who was the king of the Gascons, as His Majesty Philip IV. is the king of the Spaniards, never had a penny in his pocket.”

“Go on, sir, I see what you wish to get at; and if it is simply what I think that stops you, I can obviate the difficulty.”

“Ah, I knew well,” said the Gascon, “that you were a man of talent.  Well, here’s the case, here’s where the saddle hurts me, as we French say.  I am an officer of fortune, nothing else; I have nothing but what my sword brings me in —­ that is to say, more blows than banknotes.  Now, on taking prisoners, this morning, two Frenchmen, who seemed to me of high birth —­ in short, two knights of the Garter —­ I said to myself, my fortune is made.  I say two, because in such circumstances, Monsieur du Vallon, who is rich, always gives me his prisoners.”

Mordaunt, completely deceived by the wordy civility of D’Artagnan, smiled like a man who understands perfectly the reasons given him, and said: 

“I shall have the order signed directly, sir, and with it two thousand pistoles; meanwhile, let me take these men away.”