seen the Italian mummers do, whom the Cardinal Mazarin
brought over from Bergamo and whom he doubtless took you to
see during your travels in France.”
Mordaunt did not reply.
“Just now,” D’Artagnan continued, “you were disguised — I
mean to say, attired — as a murderer, and now —- ”
“And now I look very much like a man who is going to be
murdered.”
“Oh! sir,” said D’Artagnan, “how can you talk like that when
you are in the company of gentlemen and have such an
excellent sword at your side?”
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“No sword is excellent enough to be of use against four
swords and daggers.”
“Well, that is scarcely the question. I had the honor of
asking you why you altered your costume. The mask and beard
became you very well, and as to the axe, I do not think it
would be out of keeping even at this moment. Why, then, have
you laid it aside?”
“Because, remembering the scene at Armentieres, I thought I
should find four axes for one, as I was to meet four
executioners.”
“Sir,” replied D’Artagnan, in the calmest manner possible,
“you are very young; I shall therefore overlook your
frivolous remarks. What took place at Armentieres has no
connection whatever with the present occasion. We could
scarcely have requested your mother to take a sword and
fight us.”
“Aha! It is a duel, then?” cried Mordaunt, as if disposed to
reply at once to the provocation.
Porthos rose, always ready for this kind of adventure.
“Pardon me,” said D’Artagnan. “Do not let us do things in a
hurry. We will arrange the matter rather better. Confess,
Monsieur Mordaunt, that you are anxious to kill some of us.”
“All,” replied Mordaunt.
“Then, my dear sir; I am convinced that these gentlemen
return your kind wishes and will be delighted to kill you
also. Of course they will do so as honorable gentlemen, and
the best proof I can furnish is this —- ”
So saying, he threw his hat on the ground, pushed back his
chair to the wall and bowed to Mordaunt with true French
grace.
“At your service, sir,” he continued. “My sword is shorter
than yours, it’s true, but, bah! I think the arm will make
up for the sword.”
“Halt!” cried Porthos coming forward. “I begin, and without
any rhetoric.”
“Allow me, Porthos,” said Aramis.
Athos did not move. He might have been taken for a statue.
Even his breathing seemed to be arrested.
“Gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, “you shall have your turn.
Monsieur Mordaunt dislikes you sufficiently not to refuse
you afterward. You can see it in his eye. So pray keep your
places, like Athos, whose calmness is entirely laudable.
Besides, we will have no words about it. I have particular
business to settle with this gentleman and I shall and will
begin.”
Porthos and Aramis drew back, disappointed, and drawing his
sword D’Artagnan turned to his adversary:
“Sir, I am waiting for you.”
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“And for my part, gentlemen, I admire you. You are disputing
which shall fight me first, but you do not consult me who am
most concerned in the matter. I hate you all, but not
equally. I hope to kill all four of you, but I am more
likely to kill the first than the second, the second than
the third, and the third than the last. I claim, then, the
right to choose my opponent. If you refuse this right you
may kill me, but I shall not fight.”
“It is but fair,” said Porthos and Aramis, hoping he would
choose one of them.
Athos and D’Artagnan said nothing, but their silence seemed
to imply consent.
“Well, then,” said Mordaunt, “I choose for my adversary the
man who, not thinking himself worthy to be called Comte de
la Fere, calls himself Athos.”
Athos sprang up, but after an instant of motionless silence
he said, to the astonishment of his friends, “Monsieur
Mordaunt, a duel between us is impossible. Submit this
honour to somebody else.” And he sat down.
“Ah!” said Mordaunt, with a sneer, “there’s one who is