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The young man turned around quickly, for this attack could not be coming from the bastion, which was masked by the corner of the trench. The notion of the two soldiers who had abandoned them came back to his mind, and he recalled his assassins of two days ago. He decided this time to find out what it was all about, and fell on the body of his comrade as if he was dead. He immediately saw two heads rise above an abandoned earthwork thirty paces away: they were the heads of our two soldiers. D’Artagnan had not been mistaken. These two men had followed him only in order to assassinate him, hoping that the young man’s death would be laid to the enemy’s account.

But since he might merely be wounded and might denounce their crime, they came to finish him off. Fortunately, deceived by d’Artagnan’s ruse, they neglected to reload their guns.

When they were ten paces from him, d’Artagnan, who in falling had been very careful not to let go of his sword, rose up all at once and in one bound was on top of them.

The assassins understood that if they ran towards the camp without having killed their man, they would be accused by him. Their first idea was therefore to go over to the enemy. One of them seized his gun by the barrel and wielded it as a club: he aimed a terrible blow at d’Artagnan, who avoided it by throwing himself to the side; but by this movement he opened the way for the bandit, who rushed at once towards the bastion. As the Rochelois who were guarding it had no idea of the intentions of this man running towards them, they opened fire on him, and he fell, struck by a bullet that broke his shoulder.

During this time, d’Artagnan had thrown himself upon the second soldier, attacking him with his sword. The fight did not last long; the wretch had nothing to defend himself with but his discharged arquebus. The guard’s sword slid along the barrel of the now useless weapon and pierced the assassin’s thigh. He fell. D’Artagnan immediately brought the point of his blade to his throat.

“Oh, don’t kill me!” cried the bandit. “Mercy, mercy, officer, and I’ll tell you everything!”

“Is your secret at least worth the trouble of my letting you live?” asked the young man, restraining his arm.

“Yes, if you judge that existence is worthwhile when one is twenty-two, as you are, and can attain all, being handsome and brave as you are.”

“Scoundrel!” said d’Artagnan. “Come on, talk quickly, who ordered you to kill me?”

“A woman I don’t know, but who is called Milady.”

“But if you don’t know this woman, how do you know her name?”

“My comrade knew her and called her that. It was him she dealt with, not me. He even has a letter from this person in his pocket, which should have great importance for you, from what I’ve heard him say.”

“But how did you end up as the second half of this trap?”

“He proposed to me that we pull it off together, and I accepted.”

“And how much did she give you for this pretty expedition?”

“A hundred louis.”

“Well, how nice,” the young man said, laughing, “she finds me worth something at least—a hundred louis! That’s a lot for two scoundrels like you, so I can understand that you accepted, and I will grant you mercy, but on one condition!”

“What is it?” asked the uneasy soldier, seeing that all was not over.

“That you go and find me the letter your comrade has in his pocket.”

“But,” cried the bandit, “that’s just another way of killing me! How do you want me to go and find that letter under fire from the bastion?”

“All the same, you’ll have to make up your mind to go and find it, or I swear to you that you will die by my hand.”

“Mercy, Monsieur, have pity! In the name of that young lady you love, whom you perhaps think is dead, but who isn’t!” cried the bandit, throwing himself on his knees and leaning on his hand, for he was beginning to lose his strength along with his blood.

“And how do you know that there is a woman I love, and that I thought the woman was dead?” asked d’Artagnan.

“From the letter my comrade has in his pocket.