The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [12]
“Hey! Monsieur,” he cried, “Monsieur, hiding there behind that shutter! Yes, you! Tell me a little of what you’re laughing at, and we’ll laugh together!”
The gentleman slowly shifted his eyes from the mount to the rider, as if it took him some time to understand that such strange reproaches had been addressed to him; then, when he could no longer entertain any doubt, his eyebrows knitted slightly, and after a fairly long pause, with an accent of irony and insolence impossible to describe, he answered d’Artagnan:
“I am not speaking to you, Monsieur.”
“But I am speaking to you!” cried the young man, exasperated by this mixture of insolence and good manners, of propriety and disdain.
The unknown man looked at him an instant longer with his slight smile, and, withdrawing from the window, slowly came out of the inn to approach within two steps of d’Artagnan and plant himself facing the horse. His calm countenance and mocking physiognomy redoubled the hilarity of the men he had been talking with, who for their part remained at the window.
D’Artagnan, seeing him come, drew his sword a foot’s length from its scabbard.
“This horse is decidedly, or rather was in its youth, a buttercup,” the unknown man picked up, continuing the investigations he had begun and addressing his listeners at the window, without seeming to notice the exasperation of d’Artagnan, who was nevertheless standing between him and them. “It is a color well known in botany, but till now extremely rare among horses.”
“He laughs at the horse who would not dare laugh at its master!” cried the furious emulator of Tréville.
“I do not laugh often, Monsieur,” the unknown man picked up, “as you can see yourself from the look of my face; but I nevertheless intend to keep the privilege of laughing when it pleases me.”
“And I,” cried d’Artagnan, “I do not want anyone to laugh when it displeases me!”
“Indeed, Monsieur?” the unknown man went on, calmer than ever. “Well, that’s perfectly fair!” And turning on his heel, he was about to go back into the inn through the main gate, under which d’Artagnan, on his arrival, had noticed an already saddled horse.
But d’Artagnan was not of a character to let a man go like that who had had the insolence to mock him. He drew his sword all the way out of the scabbard and set off in pursuit, shouting:
“Turn, turn then, Mister scoffer, so that I don’t strike you from behind!”
“Strike me?!” said the other, swinging round on his heel and looking at the young man with as much astonishment as scorn. “Come, come, my dear fellow, you’re mad!”
Then, in a low voice, as if talking to himself, he went on:
“It’s too bad. What a find for His Majesty, who is searching everywhere for brave men to be recruited into his musketeers!”
He had barely finished when d’Artagnan lunged at him with such a furious thrust that, if he had not made a quick leap backwards, he would probably have joked for the last time. The unknown man saw then that things had gone beyond raillery, drew his sword, saluted his adversary, and put himself gravely on guard. But at the same moment, his two listeners, accompanied by the host, fell upon d’Artagnan with great blows of sticks, shovels, and tongs. This made so quick and complete a diversion to the attack that d’Artagnan’s adversary, while the former turned to face this hail of blows, sheathed his sword with the same precision, and, from the actor he had failed to be, became a spectator of the combat, a role he fulfilled with his ordinary impassivity,