According to the laws of dueling at that period, d’Artagnan was at liberty to assist whom he pleased.  While he was endeavoring to find out which of his companions stood in greatest need, he caught a glance from Athos.  The glance was of sublime eloquence.  Athos would have died rather than appeal for help; but he could look, and with that look ask assistance.  D’Artagnan interpreted it; with a terrible bound he sprang to the side of Cahusac, crying, “To me, Monsieur Guardsman; I will slay you!”

Cahusac turned.  It was time; for Athos, whose great courage alone supported him, sank upon his knee.

“S’blood!” cried he to d’Artagnan, “do not kill him, young man, I beg of you.  I have an old affair to settle with him when I am cured and sound again.  Disarm him only—­make sure of his sword.  That’s it!  Very well done!”

The exclamation was drawn from Athos by seeing the sword of Cahusac fly twenty paces from him.  D’Artagnan and Cahusac sprang forward at the same instant, the one to recover, the other to obtain, the sword; but d’Artagnan, being the more active, reached it first and placed his foot upon it.

Cahusac immediately ran to the Guardsman whom Aramis had killed, seized his rapier, and returned toward d’Artagnan; but on his way he met Athos, who during his relief which d’Artagnan had procured him had recovered his breath, and who, for fear that d’Artagnan would kill his enemy, wished to resume the fight.

D’Artagnan perceived that it would be disobliging Athos not to leave him alone; and in a few minutes Cahusac fell, with a sword thrust through his throat.

At the same instant Aramis placed his sword point on the breast of his fallen enemy, and forced him to ask for mercy.

There only then remained Porthos and Bicarat.  Porthos made a thousand flourishes, asking Bicarat what o’clock it could be, and offering him his compliments upon his brother’s having just obtained a company in the regiment of Navarre; but, jest as he might, he gained nothing.  Bicarat was one of those iron men who never fell dead.

Nevertheless, it was necessary to finish.  The watch might come up and take all the combatants, wounded or not, royalists or cardinalists.  Athos, Aramis, and d’Artagnan surrounded Bicarat, and required him to surrender.  Though alone against all and with a wound in his thigh, Bicarat wished to hold out; but Jussac, who had risen upon his elbow, cried out to him to yield.  Bicarat was a Gascon, as d’Artagnan was; he turned a deaf ear, and contented himself with laughing, and between two parries finding time to point to a spot of earth with his sword, “Here,” cried he, parodying a verse of the Bible, “here will Bicarat die; for I only am left, and they seek my life.”

“But there are four against you; leave off, I command you.”

“Ah, if you command me, that’s another thing,” said Bicarat.  “As you are my commander, it is my duty to obey.”  And springing backward, he broke his sword across his knee to avoid the necessity of surrendering it, threw the pieces over the convent wall, and crossed him arms, whistling a cardinalist air.