certain Monsieur Mordaunt, distrust him, in a letter I cannot say more.”
“Monsieur Mordaunt!” exclaimed the Gascon, surprised.
“Monsieur Mordaunt! ‘tis well,” said Porthos, “we shall remember that; but see, there is a postscript from Aramis.”
“So there is,” said D’Artagnan, and he read:
“We conceal the place where we are, dear friends, knowing your brotherly affection and that you would come and die with us were we to reveal it.”
“Confound it,” interrupted Porthos, with an explosion of passion which sent Mousqueton to the other end of the room; “are they in danger of dying?”