I took them.”
Meantime Porthos had reloaded his pistols.
“Be on the qui vive!” cried D’Artagnan. “Here are two other
cavaliers.”
As he spoke, two horsemen advanced at full speed.
“Ho! your honor!” cried Mousqueton, “the man you upset is
getting up.”
“Why didn’t thou do as thou didst to the first man?” said
Porthos.
“I held the horses, my hands were full, your honor.”
A shot was fired that moment; Mousqueton shrieked with pain.
“Ah, sir! I’m hit in the other side! exactly opposite the
other! This hurt is just the fellow of the one I had on the
road to Amiens.”
Porthos turned around like a lion, plunged on the dismounted
cavalier, who tried to draw his sword; but before it was out
of the scabbard, Porthos, with the hilt of his had struck
him such a terrible blow on the head that he fell like an ox
beneath the butcher’s knife.
Mousqueton, groaning, slipped from his horse, his wound not
allowing him to keep the saddle.
On perceiving the cavaliers, D’Artagnan had stopped and
charged his pistol afresh; besides, his horse, he found, had
a carbine on the bow of the saddle.
“Here I am!” exclaimed Porthos. “Shall we wait, or shall we
charge?”
“Let us charge them,” answered the Gascon.
“Charge!” cried Porthos.
They spurred on their horses; the other cavaliers were only
twenty steps from them.
“For the king!” cried D’Artagnan.
“The king has no authority here!” answered a deep voice,
which seemed to proceed from a cloud, so enveloped was the
cavalier in a whirlwind of dust.
“‘Tis well, we will see if the king’s name is not a passport
everywhere,” replied the Gascon.
“See!” answered the voice.
Two shots were fired at once, one by D’Artagnan, the other
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by the adversary of Porthos. D’Artagnan’s ball took off his
enemy’s hat. The ball fired by Porthos’s foe went through
the throat of his horse, which fell, groaning.
“For the last time, where are you going?”
“To the devil!” answered D’Artagnan.
“Good! you may be easy, then — you’ll get there.”
D’Artagnan then saw a musket-barrel leveled at him; he had
no time to draw from his holsters. He recalled a bit of
advice which Athos had once given him, and made his horse
rear.
The ball struck the animal full in front. D’Artagnan felt
his horse giving way under him and with his wonderful
agility threw himself to one side.
“Ah! this,” cried the voice, the tone of which was at once
polished and jeering, “this is nothing but a butchery of
horses and not a combat between men. To the sword, sir! the
sword!”
And he jumped off his horse.
“To the swords! be it so!” replied D’Artagnan; “that is
exactly what I want.”
D’Artagnan, in two steps, was engaged with the foe, whom,
according to custom, he attacked impetuously, but he met
this time with a skill and a strength of arm that gave him
pause. Twice he was obliged to step back; his opponent
stirred not one inch. D’Artagnan returned and again attacked
him.
Twice or thrice thrusts were attempted on both sides,
without effect; sparks were emitted from the swords like
water spouting forth.
At last D’Artagnan thought it was time to try one of his
favorite feints in fencing. He brought it to bear,
skillfully executed it with the rapidity of lightning, and
struck the blow with a force which he fancied would prove
irresistible.
The blow was parried.
“‘Sdeath!” he cried, with his Gascon accent.
At this exclamation his adversary bounded back and, bending
his bare head, tried to distinguish in the gloom the
features of the lieutenant.
As to D’Artagnan, afraid of some feint, he still stood on
the defensive.
“Have a care,” cried Porthos to his opponent; “I’ve still
two pistols charged.”
“The more reason you should fire the first!” cried his foe.
Porthos fired; the flash threw a gleam of light over the
field of battle.
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Dumas, Alexandre – Twenty Years After
As the light shone on them a cry was heard from the other
two combatants.
“Athos!” exclaimed D’Artagnan.
“D’Artagnan!” ejaculated Athos.
Athos raised his sword; D’Artagnan lowered his.