“Monsieur Oliver Cromwell, General of the Army of the English Nation.”
“Ah!” said D’Artagnan; “a singular commission.”
“Who is this Monsieur Oliver Cromwell?” inquired Porthos.
“Formerly a brewer,” replied the Gascon.
“Perhaps Mazarin wishes to make a speculation in beer, as we did in straw,” said Porthos.
“Come, come, gentlemen,” said Mordaunt, impatiently, “let us depart.”
“What!” exclaimed Porthos “without supper? Cannot Monsieur Cromwell wait a little?”
“Yes, but I?” said Mordaunt.