The Three Musketeers | Page 6

is probable he would have jested for the last time.
The stranger, then perceiving that the matter went beyond raillery, drew his sword,
saluted his adversary, and seriously placed himself on guard. But at the same moment, his
two auditors, accompanied by the host, fell upon d'Artagnan with sticks, shovels and
tongs. This caused so rapid and complete a diversion from the attack that d'Artagnan's
adversary, while the latter turned round to face this shower of blows, sheathed his sword
with the same precision, and instead of an actor, which he had nearly been, became a
spectator of the fight--a part in which he acquitted himself with his usual impassiveness,
muttering, nevertheless, "A plague upon these Gascons! Replace him on his orange horse,
and let him begone!"
"Not before I have killed you, poltroon!" cried d'Artagnan, making the best face possible,
and never retreating one step before his three assailants, who continued to shower blows
upon him.
"Another gasconade!" murmured the gentleman. "By my honor, these Gascons are
incorrigible! Keep up the dance, then, since he will have it so. When he is tired, he will
perhaps tell us that he has had enough of it."
But the stranger knew not the headstrong personage he had to do with; d'Artagnan was
not the man ever to cry for quarter. The fight was therefore prolonged for some seconds;
but at length d'Artagnan dropped his sword, which was broken in two pieces by the blow
of a stick. Another blow full upon his forehead at the same moment brought him to the
ground, covered with blood and almost fainting.
It was at this moment that people came flocking to the scene of action from all sides. The
host, fearful of consequences, with the help of his servants carried the wounded man into
the kitchen, where some trifling attentions were bestowed upon him.
As to the gentleman, he resumed his place at the window, and surveyed the crowd with a
certain impatience, evidently annoyed by their remaining undispersed.
"Well, how is it with this madman?" exclaimed he, turning round as the noise of the door
announced the entrance of the host, who came in to inquire if he was unhurt.

"Your excellency is safe and sound?" asked the host.
"Oh, yes! Perfectly safe and sound, my good host; and I wish to know what has become
of our young man."
"He is better," said the host, "he fainted quite away."
"Indeed!" said the gentleman.
"But before he fainted, he collected all his strength to challenge you, and to defy you
while challenging you."
"Why, this fellow must be the devil in person!" cried the stranger.
"Oh, no, your Excellency, he is not the devil," replied the host, with a grin of contempt;
"for during his fainting we rummaged his valise and found nothing but a clean shirt and
eleven crowns-- which however, did not prevent his saying, as he was fainting, that if
such a thing had happened in Paris, you should have cause to repent of it at a later
period."
"Then," said the stranger coolly, "he must be some prince in disguise."
"I have told you this, good sir," resumed the host, "in order that you may be on your
guard."
"Did he name no one in his passion?"
"Yes; he struck his pocket and said, 'We shall see what Monsieur de Treville will think of
this insult offered to his protege.'"
"Monsieur de Treville?" said the stranger, becoming attentive, "he put his hand upon his
pocket while pronouncing the name of Monsieur de Treville? Now, my dear host, while
your young man was insensible, you did not fail, I am quite sure, to ascertain what that
pocket contained. What was there in it?"
"A letter addressed to Monsieur de Treville, captain of the Musketeers."
"Indeed!"
"Exactly as I have the honor to tell your Excellency."
The host, who was not endowed with great perspicacity, did not observe the expression
which his words had given to the physiognomy of the stranger. The latter rose from the
front of the window, upon the sill of which he had leaned with his elbow, and knitted his
brow like a man disquieted.
"The devil!" murmured he, between his teeth. "Can Treville have set this Gascon upon
me? He is very young; but a sword thrust is a sword thrust, whatever be the age of him
who gives it, and a youth is less to be suspected than an older man," and the stranger fell

into a reverie which lasted some minutes. "A weak obstacle is sometimes sufficient to
overthrow a great design.
"Host," said he, "could you not contrive to get rid of this frantic boy for me? In
conscience, I cannot kill him; and yet," added he, with a coldly menacing expression, "he
annoys me.