“Humph!” said Porthos.
“Don’t you think the executioner might be Master Cromwell, who, to make sure of this affair, undertook it himself?”
“Ah! just so. Cromwell is stout and short, and this man thin and lanky, rather tall than otherwise.”
“Some condemned soldier, perhaps,” suggested Athos, “whom they have pardoned at the price of regicide.”
“No, no,” continued D’Artagnan, “it was not the measured step of a foot soldier, nor was it the gait of a horseman. If I am not mistaken we have to do with a gentleman.”
“A gentleman!” exclaimed Athos. “Impossible! It would be a