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but Monsieur de Treville?” he asked.

      “Yes, monsieur, I know only him.”

      “Well, but then,” continued Athos, speaking half to himself, “if I kill you, I shall have the air of a boy-slayer.”

      “Not too much so,” replied d’Artagnan, with a bow that was not deficient in dignity, “since you do me the honor to draw a sword with me while suffering from a wound which is very inconvenient.”

      “Very inconvenient, upon my word; and you hurt me devilishly, I can tell you. But I will take the left hand-it is my custom in such circumstances. Do not fancy that I do you a favor; I use either hand easily. And it will be even a disadvantage to you; a left-handed man is very troublesome to people who are not prepared for it. I regret I did not inform you sooner of this circumstance.”

      “You have truly, monsieur,” said d’Artagnan, bowing again, “a courtesy, for which, I assure you, I am very grateful.”

      “You confuse me,” replied Athos, with his gentlemanly air; “let us talk of something else, if you please. Ah, s’blood, how you have hurt me! My shoulder quite burns.”

      “If you would permit me-” said d’Artagnan, with timidity.

      “What, monsieur?”

      “I have a miraculous balsam for wounds-a balsam given to me by my mother and of which I have made a trial upon myself.”

      “Well?”

      “Well, I am sure that in less than three days this balsam would cure you; and at the end of three days, when you would be cured-well, sir, it would still do me a great honor to be your man.”

      D’Artagnan spoke these words with a simplicity that did honor to his courtesy, without throwing the least doubt upon his courage.

      “PARDIEU, monsieur!” said Athos, “that’s a proposition that pleases me; not that I can accept it, but a league off it savors of the gentleman. Thus spoke and acted the gallant knights of the time of Charlemagne, in whom every cavalier ought to seek his model. Unfortunately, we do not live in the times of the great emperor, we live in the times of the cardinal; and three days hence, however well the secret might be guarded, it would be known, I say, that we were to fight, and our combat would be prevented. I think these fellows will never come.”

      “If you are in haste, monsieur,” said d’Artagnan, with the same simplicity with which a moment before he had proposed to him to put off the duel for three days, “and if it be your will to dispatch me at once, do not inconvenience yourself, I pray you.”

      “There is another word which pleases me,” cried Athos, with a gracious nod to d’Artagnan. “That did not come from a man without a heart. Monsieur, I love men of your kidney; and I foresee plainly that if we don’t kill each other, I shall hereafter have much pleasure in your conversation. We will wait for these gentlemen, so please you; I have plenty of time, and it will be more correct. Ah, here is one of them, I believe.”

      In fact, at the end of the Rue Vaugirard the gigantic Porthos appeared.

      “What!” cried d’Artagnan, “is your first witness Monsieur Porthos?”

      “Yes, that disturbs you?”

      “By no means.”

      “And here is the second.”

      D’Artagnan turned in the direction pointed to by Athos, and perceived Aramis.

      “What!” cried he, in an accent of greater astonishment than before, “your second witness is Monsieur Aramis?”

      “Doubtless! Are you not aware that we are never seen one without the others, and that we are called among the Musketeers and the Guards, at court and in the city, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, or the Three Inseparables? And yet, as you come from Dax or Pau-”

      “From Tarbes,” said d’Artagnan.

      “It is probable you are ignorant of this little fact,” said Athos.

      “My faith!” replied d’Artagnan, “you are well named, gentlemen; and my adventure, if it should make any noise, will prove at least that your union is not founded upon contrasts.”

      In the meantime, Porthos had come up, waved his hand to Athos, and then turning toward d’Artagnan, stood quite astonished.

      Let us say in passing that he had changed his baldric and relinquished his cloak.

      “Ah, ah!” said he, “what does this mean?”

      “This is the gentleman I am going to fight with,” said Athos, pointing to d’Artagnan with his hand and saluting him with the same gesture.

      “Why, it is with him I am also going to fight,” said Porthos.

      “But not before one o’clock,” replied d’Artagnan.

      “And I also am to fight with this gentleman,” said Aramis, coming in his turn onto the place.

      “But not until two o’clock,” said d’Artagnan, with the same calmness.

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

      “Faith! I don’t very well know. He hurt my shoulder. And you, Porthos?”

      “Faith! I am going to fight-because I am going to fight,” answered Porthos, reddening.

      Athos, whose keen eye lost nothing, perceived a faintly sly smile pass over the lips of the young Gascon as he replied, “We had a short discussion upon dress.”

      “And you, Aramis?” asked Athos.

      “Oh, ours is a theological quarrel,” replied Aramis, making a sign to d’Artagnan to keep secret the cause of their duel.

      Athos indeed saw a second smile on the lips of d’Artagnan.

      “Indeed?” said Athos.

      “Yes; a passage of St. Augustine, upon which we could not agree,” said the Gascon.

      “Decidedly, this is a clever fellow,” murmured Athos.

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

      At this word APOLOGIES, a cloud passed over the brow of Athos, a haughty smile curled the lip of Porthos, and a negative sign was the reply of Aramis.

      “You do not understand me, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, throwing up his head, the sharp and bold lines of which were at the moment gilded by a bright ray of the sun. “I asked to be excused in case I should not be able to discharge my debt to all three; for Monsieur Athos has the right to kill me first, which must much diminish the face-value of your bill, Monsieur Porthos, and render yours almost null, Monsieur Aramis. And now, gentlemen, I repeat, excuse me, but on that account only, and-on guard!”

      At these words, with the most gallant air possible, d’Artagnan drew his sword.

      The blood had mounted to the head of d’Artagnan, and at that moment he would have drawn his sword against all the Musketeers in the kingdom as willingly as he now did against Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.

      It was a quarter past midday. The sun was in its zenith, and the spot chosen for the scene of the duel was exposed to its full ardor.

      “It is very hot,” said Athos, drawing his sword in its turn, “and yet I cannot take off my doublet; for I just now felt my wound begin to bleed again, and I should not like to annoy Monsieur with the sight of blood which he has not drawn from me himself.”

      “That is true, Monsieur,” replied d’Artagnan, “and whether drawn by myself or another, I assure you I shall always view with regret the blood of so brave a gentleman. I will therefore fight in my doublet, like yourself.”

      “Come, come, enough of such compliments!” cried Porthos. “Remember, we are waiting for our turns.”

      “Speak for yourself when you are inclined to utter such incongruities,” interrupted Aramis. “For my part, I think what they say is very well said, and quite worthy of two

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