Athos placed his two hands on D’Artagnan’s shoulders, and gazed at him with his calm, sad smile.

“I declare, my friend,” said he, “that there is not a creature under the sky who equals you in prowess and in courage.  Whilst we thought you indifferent to our sorrows, which you couldn’t share without crime, you alone among us have discovered what we were searching for in vain.  I repeat it, D’Artagnan, you are the best one among us; I bless and love you, my dear son.”

“And to think that I couldn’t find that out,” said Porthos, scratching his head; “it is so simple.”

“But,” said Aramis, “if I understand rightly we are to kill them all, eh?”

Athos shuddered and turned pale.

“Mordioux!” answered D’Artagnan, “I believe we must.  I confess I can discover no other safe and satisfactory way.”

“Let us see,” said Aramis, “how are we to act?”

“I have arranged two plans.  Firstly, at a given signal, which shall be the words `At last,’ you each plunge a dagger into the heart of the soldier nearest to you.  We, on our side, do the same.  That will be four killed.  We shall then be matched, four against the remaining five.  If these five men give themselves up we gag them; if they resist, we kill them.  If by chance our Amphitryon changes his mind and receives only Porthos and myself, why, then, we must resort to heroic measures and each give two strokes instead of one.  It will take a little longer time and may make a greater disturbance, but you will be outside with swords and will rush in at the proper time.”

“But if you yourselves should be struck?” said Athos.

“Impossible!” said D’Artagnan; “those beer drinkers are too clumsy and awkward.  Besides, you will strike at the throat, Porthos; it kills as quickly and prevents all outcry.”

“Very good,” said Porthos; “it will be a nice little throat cutting.”

“Horrible, horrible,” exclaimed Athos.

“Nonsense,” said D’Artagnan; “you would do as much, Mr. Humanity, in a battle.  But if you think the king’s life is not worth what it must cost there’s an end of the matter and I send to Groslow to say I am ill.”

“No, you are right,” said Athos.

At this moment a soldier entered to inform them that Groslow was waiting for them.

“Where?” asked D’Artagnan.

“In the room of the English Nebuchadnezzar,” replied the staunch Puritan.

“Good,” replied Athos, whose blood mounted to his face at the insult offered to royalty; “tell the captain we are coming.”

The Puritan then went out.  The lackeys had been ordered to saddle eight horses and to wait, keeping together and without dismounting, at the corner of a street about twenty steps from the house where the king was lodged.

It was nine o’clock in the evening; the sentinels had been relieved at eight and Captain Groslow had been on guard for an hour.  D’Artagnan and Porthos, armed with their swords, and Athos and Aramis, each carrying a concealed poniard, approached the house which for the time being was Charles Stuart’s prison.  The two latter followed their captors in the humble guise of captives, without arms.