The Three Musketeers (The Modern Library) - Alexandre Dumas [31]
With these words, accompanied by the most gallant gesture, D’Artagnan drew his sword. The blood had rushed to his head; at that moment he would have tackled all the musketeers in the kingdom as cheerfully as he was about to try conclusions with Athos, Porthos and Aramis. It was high noon; the sun in its zenith beat mercilessly down upon the dueling ground.
“It is very hot,” Athos remarked, drawing his sword in his turn, “but I cannot take off my doublet. My wound has begun to bleed again and I would not wish to embarrass Monsieur by the sight of blood which he has not drawn from me himself.”
“True, Monsieur, and, whether drawn by myself or anyone else, I vow I will always view with regret the blood of so gallant a gentleman. I will therefore fight in my doublet, like yourself.”
“Come, come, enough of such compliments,” Porthos growled. “Remember we are awaiting our turn.”
“Speak for yourself, Porthos, when you utter such absurdities,” Aramis broke in. “I, for one, hold that everything they said was well spoken and worthy of gallant gentlemen.”
“When you please, Monsieur,” said Athos, putting himself on guard.
“I was awaiting your orders, Monsieur,” D’Artagnan replied, crossing swords. But the sound of the two blades clashing had barely died down when a company of the Cardinal’s guards, commanded by Monsieur de Jussac, turned the corner of the convent.
“The Cardinal’s Guards!” Porthos and Aramis cried. “Sheathe your swords, gentlemen . . . sheathe your swords. . . .”
But it was too late; the combatants had been seen in a position which left no doubt of their intentions.
“Ho, there!” Jussac called, advancing toward them and making a sign to his men to follow him. “Hallo, there, Musketeers! So you’re fighting here, are you? And the edicts against dueling, what about them?”
“You are very generous, gentlemen of the guards,” said Athos, full of rancor, for Jussac was one of those who had attacked him the day before. “If we saw you fighting, I can promise you we would not try to interfere. Leave us alone, then, and you can enjoy a little fun without any trouble to yourselves.”
“Gentlemen,” said Jussac, “I much regret to have to tell you that this is impossible. We have our duty to accomplish. Sheathe, then, if you please, and follow us.”
“Monsieur,” said Aramis, parodying Jussac, “we would be delighted to obey your kindly invitation if it depended only upon ourselves. But unfortunately this is impossible. Monsieur de Tréville has forbidden it. Be off on your way, then; it is the best thing to do.”
The raillery exasperated Jussac:
“If you disobey,” he warned, “we shall charge you.”
“There are five of them,” Athos said in a low voice, “and only three of us. We shall be beaten again and we shall die here and now, for I swear I will never again face our Captain a beaten man.”
Athos, Porthos and Aramis huddled together as Jussac marshaled his men. This short interval was enough to convince D’Artagnan. Here was one of those events that decide a man’s entire existence; D’Artagnan must choose between King and Cardinal and forever abide by his choice. To fight meant to disobey the law, to risk his head, to attract in one instant the enmity of a minister more powerful than the King himself. He perceived all this quite clearly, and, to his credit, did not hesitate a second. Turning to the musketeers:
“Gentlemen,” he said, “allow me to correct you, if you please. You said you were but three; it seems to me that there are four of us.”
“But you are not one of us,” Porthos demurred.
“True, I wear no musketeer’s uniform but I have the spirit of a musketeer. My heart is a musketeer’s; I feel it, Monsieur, and so I shall fight!”
“You may withdraw, young man,” Jussac shouted, guessing D’Artagnan’s intentions. “We will allow you to retire. Save your skin, lad; begone quickly.”
D’Artagnan did not budge.
“Upon my word, you’re a plucky fellow,