men, each capable of killing three d'Artagnans--with two
Musketeers, in short, with two of those beings whom he esteemed
so greatly that he placed them in his mind and heart above all
other men.

The outlook was sad. Sure of being killed by Athos, it may
easily be understood that the young man was not very uneasy about
Porthos. As hope, however, is the last thing extinguished in the
heart of man, he finished by hoping that he might survive, even
though with terrible wounds, in both these duels; and in case of
surviving, he made the following reprehensions upon his own
conduct:

"What a madcap I was, and what a stupid fellow I am! That brave
and unfortunate Athos was wounded on that very shoulder against
which I must run head foremost, like a ram. The only thing that
astonishes me is that he did not strike me dead at once. He had
good cause to do so; the pain I gave him must have been
atrocious. As to Porthos--oh, as to Porthos, faith, that's a
droll affair!"

And in spite of himself, the young man began to laugh aloud,
looking round carefully, however, to see that his solitary laugh,
without a cause in the eyes of passers-by, offended no one.

"As to Porthos, that is certainly droll; but I am not the less a
giddy fool. Are people to be run against without warning? No!
And have I any right to go and peep under their cloaks to see
what is not there? He would have pardoned me, he would certainly
have pardoned me, if I had not said anything to him about that