“Oh, but,” thought d’Artagnan, becoming very anxious, “that is not a common horse M. Fouquet is upon; let us see!” And he attentively examined with his infallible eye the shape and capabilities of the courser. Round full quarters, a thin long tail, large hocks, thin legs dry as bars of steel, hoofs hard as marble. He spurred his own, but the distance between the two remained the same. D’Artagnan listened attentively; not a breath of the horse reached him, and yet he seemed to cut the air. The black horse, on the contrary, began to blow like a blacksmith’s bellows.
“I must overtake him, if I kill my horse,” thought the musketeer; and he began to saw the mouth of the poor animal, while he buried the rowels of his spurs in his sides. The maddened horse gained twenty toises, and came up within pistol-shot of Fouquet.
“Courage!” said the musketeer to himself, “courage! the white horse will perhaps grow weaker; and if the horse does not fall, the master must fall at last.” But horse and rider remained upright together, gaining ground by degrees. D’Artagnan uttered a wild cry, which made Fouquet turn round, and added speed to the white horse.
“A famous horse! a mad rider!” growled the captain. “Hola! mordioux! M. Fouquet! stop! in the King’s name!” Fouquet made no reply.
“Do you hear me?” shouted d’Artagnan, whose horse had just stumbled.
“Pardieu!” replied Fouquet, laconically, and rode on faster.
D’Artagnan was nearly mad; the blood rushed boiling to his temples and his eyes. “In the King’s name!” cried he, again, “stop, or I will bring you down with a pistol-shot!”
“Do!” replied Fouquet, without relaxing his speed.
D’Artagnan seized a pistol and cocked it, hoping that the noise of the spring would stop his enemy. “You have pistols likewise,” said he; “turn and defend yourself.”
Fouquet did turn round at the noise, and looking d’Artagnan full in the face, opened with his right hand the part of his dress which concealed his body, but he did not touch his holsters. There were twenty paces between the two.
“Mordioux!” said d’Artagnan, “I will not kill you; if you will not fire upon me, surrender! What is a prison?”
“I would rather die!” replied Fouquet; “I shall suffer less.”
D’Artagnan, drunk with despair, hurled his pistol to the ground. “I will take you alive!” said he; and by a prodigy of skill of which this incomparable horseman alone was capable, he urged his horse forward to within ten paces of the white horse,- already his hand being stretched out to seize his prey.
“Kill me! kill me!” cried Fouquet; “it is more humane!”
“No! alive, alive!” murmured the captain.
At this moment his horse made a false step for the second time, and Fouquet’s again took the lead. It was an unheard-of spectacle,- this race between two horses which were only kept alive by the will of their riders. To the furious gallop had succeeded the fast trot, and then the simple trot; and the race appeared equally warm to the two fatigued athletes. D’Artagnan, quite in despair, seized his second pistol, and cocked it. “At your horse! not at you!” cried he to Fouquet. And he fired. The animal was hit in the rump; he made a furious bound, and plunged forward. D’Artagnan’s horse fell dead.
“I am dishonored!” thought the musketeer; “I am a miserable wretch!” Then he cried, “For pity’s sake, M. Fouquet, throw me one of your pistols that I may blow out my brains!” But Fouquet rode on.
“For mercy’s sake! for mercy’s sake!” cried d’Artagnan; “that which you will not do at this moment, I myself will do within an hour. But here upon this road I should die bravely, I should die esteemed; do me that service, M. Fouquet!”
M. Fouquet made no reply, but continued to trot on. D’Artagnan began to run after his enemy. Successively he threw off his hat, his coat, which embarrassed him, and then the sheath of his sword, which got between his legs as he was running. The sword in his hand even became too heavy, and he threw it after the sheath. The white horse began to rattle in his throat; d’Artagnan gained upon him. From a trot the exhausted animal sunk to a staggering walk; the foam from his mouth was mixed with blood. D’Artagnan made a desperate effort, sprang towards Fouquet, and seized him by the leg, saying in a broken, breathless voice, “I arrest you in the King’s name! blow my brains out, if you like; we have both done our duty.”