“Aramis!” cried Athos, “don’t fire!”
“Ah! ha! is it you, Aramis?” said Porthos.
And he threw away his pistol.
Aramis pushed his back into his saddle-bags and sheathed his
sword.
“My son!” exclaimed Athos, extending his hand to D’Artagnan.
This was the name which he gave him in former days, in their
moments of tender intimacy.
“Athos!” cried D’Artagnan, wringing his hands. “So you
defend him! And I, who have sworn to take him dead or alive,
I am dishonored — and by you!”
“Kill me!” replied Athos, uncovering his breast, “if your
honor requires my death.”
“Oh! woe is me! woe is me!” cried the lieutenant; “there’s
only one man in the world who could stay my hand; by a
fatality that very man bars my way. What shall I say to the
cardinal?”
“You can tell him, sir,” answered a voice which was the
voice of high command in the battle-field, “that he sent
against me the only two men capable of getting the better of
four men; of fighting man to man, without discomfiture,
against the Comte de la Fere and the Chevalier d’Herblay,
and of surrendering only to fifty men!
“The prince!” exclaimed at the same moment Athos and Aramis,
unmasking as they addressed the Duc de Beaufort, whilst
D’Artagnan and Porthos stepped backward.
“Fifty cavaliers!” cried the Gascon and Porthos.
“Look around you, gentlemen, if you doubt the fact,” said
the duke.
The two friends looked to the right, to the left; they were
encompassed by a troop of horsemen.
“Hearing the noise of the fight,” resumed the duke, “I
fancied you had about twenty men with you, so I came back
with those around me, tired of always running away, and
wishing to draw my sword in my own cause; but you are only
two.”
“Yes, my lord; but, as you have said, two that are a match
for twenty,” said Athos.
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“Come, gentlemen, your swords,” said the duke.
“Our swords!” cried D’Artagnan, raising his head and
regaining his self-possession. “Never!”
“Never!” added Porthos.
Some of the men moved toward them.
“One moment, my lord,” whispered Athos, and he said
something in a low voice.
“As you will,” replied the duke. “I am too much indebted to
you to refuse your first request. Gentlemen,” he said to his
escort, “withdraw. Monsieur d’Artagnan, Monsieur du Vallon,
you are free.”
The order was obeyed; D’Artagnan and Porthos then found
themselves in the centre of a large circle.
“Now, D’Herblay,” said Athos, “dismount and come here.”
Aramis dismounted and went to Porthos, whilst Athos
approached D’Artagnan.
All four once more together.
“Friends!” said Athos, “do you regret you have not shed our
blood?”
“No,” replied D’Artagnan; “I regret to see that we, hitherto
united, are opposed to each other. Ah! nothing will ever go
well with us hereafter!”
“Oh, Heaven! No, all is over!” said Porthos.
“Well, be on our side now,” resumed Aramis.
“Silence, D’Herblay!” cried Athos; “such proposals are not
to be made to gentlemen such as these. ‘Tis a matter of
conscience with them, as with us.”
“Meantime, here we are, enemies!” said Porthos. “Gramercy!
who would ever have thought it?”
D’Artagnan only sighed.
Athos looked at them both and took their hands in his.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “this is a serious business and my
heart bleeds as if you had pierced it through and through.
Yes, we are severed; there is the great, the distressing
truth! But we have not as yet declared war; perhaps we shall
have to make certain conditions, therefore a solemn
conference is indispensable.”
“For my own part, I demand it,” said Aramis.
“I accept it,” interposed D’Artagnan, proudly.
Porthos bowed, as if in assent.
“Let us choose a place of rendezvous,” continued Athos, “and
in a last interview arrange our mutual position and the
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conduct we are to maintain toward each other.”
“Good!” the other three exclaimed.
“Well, then, the place?”
“Will the Place Royale suit you?” asked D’Artagnan.
“In Paris?”
“Yes.”
Athos and Aramis looked at each other.
“The Place Royale — be it so!” replied Athos.
“When?”
“To-morrow evening, if you like!”