The Three Musketeers

“What!” exclaimed d’Artagnan, “is M. Porthos one of your seconds!”

“Yes, have you any objection to him?”

“Oh, certainly not!”

“And here is the other.”

D’Artagnan looked in the direction indicated by Athos, and beheld Aramis.

“What!” cried he, in a tone of yet greater astonishment, “is M. Aramis the other of your seconds?”

“Certainly; are you not aware that one is rarely seen without the other, and that amongst the musketeers and guards, at court and in the town, we are known as Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, or the three inseparables? But as you come from Dax or Pau—”

“From Tarbes,” said d’Artagnan.

“You may very naturally be ignorant of all this.”

“Really, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, “you are well named; and should my adventure become known, it will at least prove that like draws to like.”

In the meantime Porthos approached, shook hands with Athos, and turning towards d’Artagnan, seemed lost in astonishment. We may mention, in passing, that he had changed his belt, and laid aside his cloak.

“It is with this gentleman that I am about to fight,” said Athos, pointing towards d’Artagnan, and at the same time saluting him.

“And I also am going to fight him,” replied Porthos.

“But not till one o’clock,” interrupted d’Artagnan.

“And I also—it is with him that I am to fight,” said Aramis, who had arrived on the ground, just after Porthos.

“Our appointment, however, is for two o’clock,” replied d’Artagnan, with the same coolness.

“But what are you going to fight about, Athos?” demanded Aramis.

“Upon my faith, I do not well know, except that he hurt my shoulder.”

“And you, Porthos?”

“I fight because I fight,” replied Porthos colouring. Athos, whom nothing escaped, perceived a slight smile curling the lips of the Gascon.

“We had a dispute about dress,” said d’Artagnan.

“And you, Aramis?” demanded Athos.

“Me? I fight on account of a theological dispute,” answered Aramis, making a sign to d’Artagnan that he wished him to conceal the true cause of their duel.

“Really!” said Athos, who observed d’Artagnan smile again.

“Yes, a point of St. Augustine, on which we could not agree,” said the Gascon.

“Decidedly he is a man of spirit,” murmured Athos.

“And now that you are all arrived, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, “permit me to offer my apologies.”

A frown passed over the brow of Athos, a haughty smile glided over the lips of Porthos, and a negative sign was the reply of Aramis.

“You do not rightly understand me, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, elevating his head, on which a sunbeam played, gilding its fine and manly lines. “I wish to apologise because it is improbable that I shall be able to pay my debt to all three; for M. Athos has the right to kill me first, which greatly decreases the value of your bill, M. Porthos, whilst it renders yours, M. Aramis, of scarcely the slightest value. Therefore, gentlemen, on that account alone, I again repeat my offer of apology. And now upon your guard!”

And with the most gallant and fearless mien he drew his sword.

His blood was fairly roused, and at that moment he would have drawn his sword against all the musketeers in the kingdom with as little hesitation as he then did against Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.

It was a quarter past twelve, the sun was at its meridian, and the situation chosen for the encounter was exposed to its fierce heat.

“It is very hot,” said Athos, drawing his sword, “and yet I cannot take off my doublet, for just now I perceived that my wound bled, and I fear to distress this gentleman by showing him blood which he has not drawn from me himself.”

“True, sir,” replied d’Artagnan, “but I assure you that, whether drawn by myself or by any other person, I shall always see with regret the blood of so brave a gentleman; I will therefore follow your example, and fight in my doublet.”

“Come,” said Porthos, “a truce to these compliments. Remember that we also await our turn.”

“Speak for yourself only, Porthos, when you choose to be so rude,” interposed Aramis. “As for me, I consider the courtesies which have passed between these gentlemen as worthy of men of the highest honour.”

“When you please, sir,” said Athos, placing himself on his guard.

“I was at your service,” said d’Artagnan, crossing his sword.

But the two rapiers had scarcely met, when a party of the cardinal’s guards, commanded by M. de Jussac, appeared at the corner of the convent.

“The cardinal’s guards!” exclaimed Porthos and Aramis at the same moment. “Sheathe swords—gentlemen—sheathe swords!”

But it was too late. The combatants had been seen in a position which left no doubt of their intentions.

“Hollo!” cried Jussac, advancing towards them, and giving a signal to his men to do the same. “Hollo, musketeers! What, fighting here? And the edicts—are they forgotten, eh?”

“You are extremely generous, gentlemen of the guards,” said Athos, in a tone of the most bitter animosity, for Jussac had been one of the aggressors on the night before last. “If we saw you fighting, I promise you that we should not prevent it; therefore let us alone, and you will enjoy the spectacle without any of the pain.”

“Gentlemen,” answered Jussac, “it is with regret I declare that what you request is impossible. Duty must take precedence of everything else. Sheathe, therefore, if you please, and follow us.”

“Sir,” said Aramis, parodying Jussac’s manner, “if it depended upon ourselves, we should accept your polite invitation with the utmost pleasure; but unfortunately the thing is impossible. M. de Treville has forbidden it. Move on, therefore; it is the best thing you can do.”

This mockery exasperated Jussac. “We will charge you,” said he, “if you disobey.”

“They are five,” said Athos in a low voice, “and we are only three; we shall be beaten again, and we must die here; for I positively swear that I will not again appear before the captain a vanquished man.”

Athos, Porthos, and Aramis closed up to each other, whilst Jussac drew up his men. This moment of delay sufficed for d’Artagnan to form his resolution. It was one of those moments weighed with a man’s whole destiny; it was a choice between the king and the cardinal, and this choice, once made, must be adhered to. To fight was to disobey the law, to risk his head, and, by one blow, to make an enemy of a minister more powerful than the king himself. All this the young man plainly perceived, and we must do him the justice to declare that he did not hesitate a single instant.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “you must allow me to correct one thing which you have said. You affirmed that you were but three; but it appears to me that there are four of us.”

“You are not one of us,” said Porthos.