Chapter LXII.

London.

As soon as the noise of the hoofs was lost in the distance D’Artagnan

remounted the bank of the stream and scoured the plain, followed by his

three friends, directing their course, as well as they could guess,

toward London.

“This time,” said D’Artagnan, when they were sufficiently distant to

proceed at a trot, “I think all is lost and we have nothing better to

do than to reach France. What do you say, Athos, to that proposition?

Isn’t it reasonable?”

“Yes, dear friend,” Athos replied, “but you said a word the other day

that was more than reasonable—it was noble and generous. You said, ‘Let

us die here!’ I recall to you that word.”

“Oh,” said Porthos, “death is nothing: it isn’t death that can disquiet

us, since we don’t know what it is. What troubles me is the idea of

defeat. As things are turning out, I foresee that we must give battle

to London, to the provinces, to all England, and certainly in the end

we can’t fail to be beaten.”

“We ought to witness this great tragedy even to its last scene,” said

Athos. “Whatever happens, let us not leave England before the crisis.

Don’t you agree with me, Aramis?”

“Entirely, my dear count. Then, too, I confess I should not be sorry to

come across Mordaunt again. It appears to me that we have an account to

settle with him, and that it is not our custom to leave a place without

paying our debts, of _this_ kind, at least.”

“Ah! that’s another thing,” said D’Artagnan, “and I should not mind

waiting in London a whole year for a chance of meeting this Mordaunt in

question. Only let us lodge with some one on whom we can count; for I

imagine, just now, that Noll Cromwell would not be inclined to trifle

with us. Athos, do you know any inn in the whole town where one can

find white sheets, roast beef reasonably cooked, and wine which is not

made of hops and gin?”

“I think I know what you want,” replied Athos. “De Winter took us to

the house of a Spaniard, who, he said, had become naturalized as an

Englishman by the guineas of his new compatriots. What do you say to

it, Aramis?”

“Why, the idea of taking quarters with Senor Perez seems to me very

reasonable, and for my part I agree to it. We will invoke the

remembrance of that poor De Winter, for whom he seemed to have a great

regard; we will tell him that we have come as amateurs to see what is

going on; we will spend with him a guinea each per day; and I think

that by taking all these precautions we can be quite undisturbed.”

“You forget, Aramis, one precaution of considerable importance.”

“What is that?”

“The precaution of changing our clothes.”

“Changing our clothes!” exclaimed Porthos. “I don’t see why; we are

very comfortable in those we wear.”

“To prevent recognition,” said D’Artagnan. “Our clothes have a cut

which would proclaim the Frenchman at first sight. Now, I don’t set

sufficient store on the cut of my jerkin to risk being hung at Tyburn

or sent for change of scene to the Indies. I shall buy a

chestnut-colored suit. I’ve remarked that your Puritans revel in that

color.”

“But can you find your man?” said Aramis to Athos.

“Oh! to be sure, yes. He lives at the Bedford Tavern, Greenhall Street.

Besides, I can find my way about the city with my eyes shut.”

“I wish we were already there,” said D’Artagnan; “and my advice is that

we reach London before daybreak, even if we kill our horses.”

“Come on, then,” said Athos, “for unless I am mistaken in my

calculations we have only eight or ten leagues to go.”

The friends urged on their horses and arrived, in fact, at about five

o’clock in the morning. They were stopped and questioned at the gate by

which they sought to enter the city, but Athos replied, in excellent

English, that they had been sent forward by Colonel Harrison to

announce to his colleague, Monsieur Bridge, the approach of the king.

That reply led to several questions about the king’s capture, and Athos

gave details so precise and positive that if the gatekeepers had any

suspicions they vanished completely. The way was therefore opened to

the four friends with all sorts of Puritan congratulations.

Athos was right. He went direct to the Bedford Tavern, and the host,

who recognized him, was delighted to see him again with such a numerous

and promising company.

Though it was scarcely daylight our four travelers found the town in a

great bustle, owing to the reported approach of Harrison and the king.

The plan of changing their clothes was unanimously adopted. The

landlord sent out for every description of garment, as if he wanted to

fit up his wardrobe. Athos chose a black coat, which gave him the

appearance of a respectable citizen. Aramis, not wishing to part with

his sword, selected a dark-blue cloak of a military cut. Porthos was

seduced by a wine-colored doublet and sea-green breeches. D’Artagnan,

who had fixed on his color beforehand, had only to select the shade,

and looked in his chestnut suit exactly like a retired sugar dealer.

“Now,” said D’Artagnan, “for the actual man. We must cut off our hair,

that the populace may not insult us. As we no longer wear the sword of

the gentleman we may as well have the head of the Puritan. This, as you

know, is the important point of distinction between the Covenanter and

the Cavalier.”

After some discussion this was agreed to and Mousqueton played the

_rôle_ of barber.

“We look hideous,” said Athos.

“And smack of the Puritan to a frightful extent,” said Aramis.

“My head feels actually cold,” said Porthos.

“As for me, I feel anxious to preach a sermon,” said D’Artagnan.

“Now,” said Athos, “that we cannot even recognize one another and have

therefore no fear of others recognizing us, let us go and see the

king’s entrance.”

They had not been long in the crowd before loud cries announced the

king’s arrival. A carriage had been sent to meet him, and the gigantic

Porthos, who stood a head above the entire rabble, soon announced that

he saw the royal equipage approaching. D’Artagnan raised himself on

tiptoe, and as the carriage passed, saw Harrison at one window and

Mordaunt at the other.

The next day, Athos, leaning out of his window, which looked upon the

most populous part of the city, heard the Act of Parliament, which

summoned the ex-king, Charles I., to the bar, publicly cried.

“Parliament indeed!” cried Athos. “Parliament can never have passed

such an act as that.”

At this moment the landlord came in.

“Did parliament pass this act?” Athos asked of him in English.

“Yes, my lord, the pure parliament.”

“What do you mean by ‘the pure parliament’? Are there, then, two

parliaments?”

“My friend,” D’Artagnan interrupted, “as I don’t understand English and

we all understand Spanish, have the kindness to speak to us in that

language, which, since it is your own, you must find pleasure in using

when you have the chance.”

“Ah! excellent!” said Aramis.

As to Porthos, all his attention was concentrated on the allurements of

the breakfast table.

“You were asking, then?” said the host in Spanish.

“I asked,” said Athos, in the same language, “if there are two

parliaments, a pure and an impure?”

“Why, how extraordinary!” said Porthos, slowly raising his head and

looking at his friends with an air of astonishment, “I understand

English, then! I understand what you say!”

“That is because we are talking Spanish, my dear friend,” said Athos.

“Oh, the devil!” said Porthos, “I am sorry for that; it would have been

one language more.”

“When I speak of the pure parliament,” resumed the host, “I mean the

one which Colonel Bridge has weeded.”

“Ah! really,” said D’Artagnan, “these people are very ingenious. When I

go back to France I must suggest some such convenient course to

Cardinal Mazarin and the coadjutor. One of them will weed the

parliament in the name of the court, and the other in the name of the

people; and then there won’t be any parliament at all.”

“And who is this Colonel Bridge?” asked Aramis, “and how does he go to

work to weed the parliament?”

“Colonel Bridge,” replied the Spaniard, “is a retired wagoner, a man of

much sense, who made one valuable observation whilst driving his team,

namely, that where there happened to be a stone on the road, it was

much easier to remove the stone than try and make the wheel pass over

it. Now, of two hundred and fifty-one members who composed the

parliament, there were one hundred and ninety-one who were in the way

and might have upset his political wagon. He took them up, just as he

formerly used to take up the stones from the road, and threw them out

of the house.”

“Neat,” remarked D’Artagnan. “Very!”

“And all these one hundred and ninety-one were Royalists?” asked Athos.

“Without doubt, señor; and you understand that they would have saved

the king.”

“To be sure,” said Porthos, with majestic common sense; “they were in

the majority.”

“And you think,” said Aramis, “he will consent to appear before such a

tribunal?”

“He will be forced to do so,” smiled the Spaniard.

“Now, Athos!” said D’Artagnan, “do you begin to believe that it’s a

ruined cause, and that what with your Harrisons, Joyces, Bridges and

Cromwells, we shall never get the upper hand?”

“The king will be delivered at the tribunal,” said Athos; “the very

silence of his supporters indicates that they are at work.”

D’Artagnan shrugged his shoulders.

“But,” said Aramis, “if they dare to condemn their king, it can only be

to exile or imprisonment.”

D’Artagnan whistled a little air of incredulity.

“We shall see,” said Athos, “for we shall go to the sittings, I

presume.”

“You will not have long to wait,” said the landlord; “they begin

to-morrow.”

“So, then, they drew up the indictments before the king was taken?”

“Of course,” said D’Artagnan; “they began the day he was sold.”

“And you know,” said Aramis, “that it was our friend Mordaunt who made,

if not the bargain, at least the overtures.”

“And you know,” added D’Artagnan, “that whenever I catch him I will

kill him, this Mordaunt.”

“And I, too,” exclaimed Porthos.

“And I, too,” added Aramis.

“Touching unanimity!” cried D’Artagnan, “which well becomes good

citizens like us. Let us take a turn around the town and imbibe a

little fog.”

“Yes,” said Porthos, “’twill be at least a little change from beer.”