"A gentleman!" exclaimed Athos. "Impossible! It would be a dishonor to all the nobility."
"Fine sport, by Jove!" cried Porthos, with a laugh that shook the windows. "Fine sport!"
"Are you still bent on departure, Athos?" asked D'Artagnan.
"No, I remain," replied Athos, with a threatening gesture that promised no good to whomsoever it was addressed.
"Swords, then!" cried Aramis, "swords! let us not lose a moment."
The four friends resumed their own clothes, girded on their swords, ordered Musqueton and Blaisois to pay the bill and to arrange everything for immediate departure, and wrapped in their large cloaks left in search of their game.
The night was dark, snow was falling, the streets were silent and deserted. D'Artagnan led the way through the intricate windings and narrow alleys of the city and ere long they had reached the house in question. For a moment D'Artagnan thought that Parry's brother had disappeared; but he was mistaken. The robust Scotchman, accustomed to the snows of his native hills, had stretched himself against a post, and like a fallen statue, insensible to the inclemency of the weather, had allowed the snow to cover him. He rose, however, as they approached.
"Come," said Athos, "here's another good servant. Really, honest men are not so scarce as I thought."
"Don't be in a hurry to weave crowns for our Scotchman. I believe the fellow is here on his own account, for I have heard that these gentlemen born beyond the Tweed are very vindictive. I should not like to be Groslow, if he meets him."
"Well?" said Athos, to the man, in English.
"No one has come out," he replied.
"Then, Porthos and Aramis, will you remain with this man while we go around to Grimaud?"
Grimaud had made himself a kind of sentry box out of a hollow willow, and as they drew near he put his head out and gave a low whistle.
"Soho!" cried Athos.
"Yes," said Grimaud.
"Well, has anybody come out?"
"No, but somebody has gone in."
"A man or a woman?"
"A man."
"Ah! ah!" said D'Artagnan, "there are two of them, then!"
"I wish there were four," said Athos; "the two parties would then be equal."
"Perhaps there are four," said D'Artagnan.
"What do you mean?"
"Other men may have entered before them and waited for them."
"We can find out," said Grimaud. At the same time he pointed to a window, through the shutters of which a faint light streamed.
"That is true," said D'Artagnan, "let us call the others."
They returned around the house to fetch Porthos and Aramis.
"Have you seen anything?" they asked.
"No, but we are going to," replied D'Artagnan, pointing to Grimaud, who had already climbed some five or six feet from the ground.
All four came up together. Grimaud continued to climb like a cat and succeeded at last in catching hold of a hook, which served to keep one of the shutters back when opened. Then resting his foot on a small ledge he made a sign to show all was right.
"Well?" asked D'Artagnan.
Grimaud showed his closed hand, with two fingers spread out.
"Speak," said Athos; "we cannot see your signs. How many are there?"
"Two. One opposite to me, the other with his back to me."
"Good. And the man opposite to you is ---- "The man I saw go in."
"Do you know him?"
"I thought I recognized him, and was not mistaken. Short and stout."
"Who is it?" they all asked together in a low tone.
"General Oliver Cromwell."
The four friends looked at one another.
"And the other?" asked Athos.
"Thin and lanky."
"The executioner," said D'Artagnan and Aramis at the same time.
"I can see nothing but his back," resumed Grimaud. "But wait. He is moving; and if he has taken off his mask I shall be able to see. Ah ---- "
And as if struck in the heart he let go the hook and dropped with a groan.
"Did you see him?" they all asked.
Yes," said Grimaud, with his hair standing on end.
"The thin, spare man?"
"Yes."
"The executioner, in short?" asked Aramis.
"Yes."
"And who is it?" said Porthos.
"He -- he -- is ---- " murmured Grimaud, pale as a ghost and seizing his master's hand.
"Who? He?" asked Athos.
"Mordaunt," replied Grimaud.
D'Artagnan, Porthos and Aramis uttered a cry of joy.
Athos stepped back and passed his hand across his brow.
"Fatality!" he muttered.