The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [39]
Unfortunately for d’Artagnan, among the spectators there happened to be one of His Eminence’s guards, who, still all fired up by the defeat of his companions only the day before, had promised himself to seize the first occasion to avenge it. He now thought the occasion had come, and turning to his neighbor, said:
“It’s not surprising that this young man is afraid of a ball, no doubt he’s an apprentice musketeer.”
D’Artagnan whipped around as if stung by a serpent and stared fixedly at the guard who had just made this insolent remark.
“Pardieu!” the latter picked up, insolently twirling his mustache, “look at me as much as you like, my little sir, I said what I said.”
“And since what you said is too clear for your words to need any explanation,” d’Artagnan replied in a low voice, “I will ask you to come with me.”
“And when might that be?” the guard asked with the same mocking air.
“At once, if you please.”
“And I suppose you know who I am?”
“I have no idea, and it doesn’t worry me in the least.”
“You’re wrong there, for if you knew my name, you might be in less of a hurry.”
“What is your name?”
“Bernajoux, at your service.”
“Well, then, M. Bernajoux,” d’Artagnan said calmly, “I’ll be waiting for you at the door.”
“Go on, Monsieur, I’m right behind you.”
“Don’t be in too much of a hurry, Monsieur; they shouldn’t see us leaving together. You understand that, for what we’re about to do, too big a crowd would be a hindrance.”
“Very well,” replied the guard, surprised that his name had no effect on the young man.
Indeed, Bernajoux’s name was known to everyone, with the sole exception of d’Artagnan, perhaps, for he was one of those who figured most often in the daily brawls that all the edicts of king and cardinal had been unable to curb.
Porthos and Aramis were so caught up in their game, and Athos was watching them with such attention, that they did not even see their young companion leave. He stopped at the door, as he had said to His Eminence’s guard. A moment later, the man came down in his turn. As d’Artagnan had no time to lose, seeing that the audience with the king was fixed for noon, he cast a glance around him, and seeing that the street was deserted, said to his adversary:
“By heaven, it’s a lucky thing for you, though your name is Bernajoux, that you only have to do with an apprentice musketeer. Don’t worry, however, I’ll do my best. On guard!”
“But,” the man thus provoked by d’Artagnan said, “it seems to me the place is rather ill chosen. We’d be better off behind the abbey of Saint-Germain or in the Pré-aux-clercs.”
“What you say is quite sensible,” replied d’Artagnan. “Unfortunately, I have little time, because I have an appointment at noon. On guard then, Monsieur, on guard!”
Bernajoux was not a man to have such a compliment repeated to him twice. At the same instant his sword flashed in his hand, and he fell upon his adversary, whom, owing to his extreme youth, he hoped to intimidate.
But d’Artagnan had served his apprenticeship the day before, and, freshly graduated from his victory, filled with his future favor, he was resolved not to yield a step: the two blades thus found themselves engaged to the hilt, and as d’Artagnan firmly stood his ground, it was his adversary who stepped back. But d’Artagnan seized the moment when, in that movement, Bernajoux’s blade deviated from the line, disengaged, lunged, and wounded his adversary in the shoulder. D’Artagnan at once took a step back in his turn and raised his sword, but Bernajoux cried to him that it was nothing and, lunging blindly