“Athos bequeaths to you Raoul, and I bequeath to you my revenge.
If by any good luck you lay your hand on a certain man named Mordaunt, tell Porthos to take him into a corner and to wring his neck. I dare not say more in a letter.
“If that is all, it is easily done,” said Porthos.
“On the contrary,” observed D’Artagnan, with a vexed look; “it would be impossible.”
“It is precisely this Monsieur Mordaunt whom we are going to join at Boulogne and with whom we cross to England.”