them, one by one, so to say, like so many blows of a stiletto,
into the bosoms of his auditors. "What! Six of his Eminence's
Guards arrest six of his Majesty's Musketeers! MORBLEU! My part
is taken! I will go straight to the louvre; I will give in my
resignation as captain of the king's Musketeers to take a
lieutenancy in the cardinal's Guards, and if he refuses me,
MORBLEU! I will turn abbe."

At these words, the murmur without became an explosion; nothing
was to be heard but oaths and blasphemies. The MORBLEUS, the
SANG DIEUS, the MORTS TOUTS LES DIABLES, crossed one another in
the air. D'Artagnan looked for some tapestry behind which he
might hide himself, and felt an immense inclination to crawl
under the table.

"Well, my Captain," said Porthos, quite beside himself, "the
truth is that we were six against six. But we were not captured
by fair means; and before we had time to draw our swords, two of
our party were dead, and Athos, grievously wounded, was very
little better. For you know Athos. Well, Captain, he endeavored
twice to get up, and fell again twice. And we did not
surrender--no! They dragged us away by force. On the way we
escaped. As for Athos, they believed him to be dead, and left him
very quiet on the field of battle, not thinking it worth the trouble
to carry him away. That's the whole story. What the devil,
Captain, one cannot win all one's battles! The great Pompey lost
that of Pharsalia; and Francis the First, who was, as I have
heard say, as good as other folks, nevertheless lost the Battle
of Pavia."