“Halloo!” cried Jussac, advancing toward them and making a sign to his men to do so likewise, “halloo, Musketeers?  Fighting here, are you?  And the edicts?  What is become of them?”

“You are very generous, gentlemen of the Guards,” said Athos, full of rancor, for Jussac was one of the aggressors of the preceding day.  “If we were to see you fighting, I can assure you that we would make no effort to prevent you.  Leave us alone, then, and you will enjoy a little amusement without cost to yourselves.”

“Gentlemen,” said Jussac, “it is with great regret that I pronounce the thing impossible.  Duty before everything.  Sheathe, then, if you please, and follow us.”

“Monsieur,” said Aramis, parodying Jussac, “it would afford us great pleasure to obey your polite invitation if it depended upon ourselves; but unfortunately the thing is impossible—­Monsieur de Treville has forbidden it.  Pass on your way, then; it is the best thing to do.”

This raillery exasperated Jussac.  “We will charge upon you, then,” said he, “if you disobey.”

“There are five of them,” said Athos, half aloud, “and we are but three; we shall be beaten again, and must die on the spot, for, on my part, I declare I will never appear again before the captain as a conquered man.”

Athos, Porthos, and Aramis instantly drew near one another, while Jussac drew up his soldiers.

This short interval was sufficient to determine d’Artagnan on the part he was to take.  It was one of those events which decide the life of a man; it was a choice between the king and the cardinal—­the choice made, it must be persisted in.  To fight, that was to disobey the law, that was to risk his head, that was to make at one blow an enemy of a minister more powerful than the king himself.  All this young man perceived, and yet, to his praise we speak it, he did not hesitate a second.  Turning towards Athos and his friends, “Gentlemen,” said he, “allow me to correct your words, if you please.  You said you were but three, but it appears to me we are four.”

“But you are not one of us,” said Porthos.

“That’s true,” replied d’Artagnan; “I have not the uniform, but I have the spirit.  My heart is that of a Musketeer; I feel it, monsieur, and that impels me on.”

“Withdraw, young man,” cried Jussac, who doubtless, by his gestures and the expression of his countenance, had guessed d’Artagnan’s design.  “You may retire; we consent to that.  Save your skin; begone quickly.”

D’Artagnan did not budge.

“Decidedly, you are a brave fellow,” said Athos, pressing the young man’s hand.

“Come, come, choose your part,” replied Jussac.

“Well,” said Porthos to Aramis, “we must do something.”

“Monsieur is full of generosity,” said Athos.

But all three reflected upon the youth of d’Artagnan, and dreaded his inexperience.

“We should only be three, one of whom is wounded, with the addition of a boy,” resumed Athos; “and yet it will not be the less said we were four men.”