"The deuce! you are unfortunate in the moment you have chosen; a duel,
after the one I have just fought, would hardly suit me; I have lost too
much blood at Boulogne; at the slightest effort my wounds would open
again, and you would really have too good a bargain."

"True," said De Guiche; "and yet, on your arrival here, your looks and
your arms showed there was nothing the matter with you."

"Yes, my arms are all right, but my legs are weak; and then, I have not
had a foil in my hand since that devil of a duel; and you, I am sure,
have been fencing every day, in order to carry your little conspiracy
against me to a successful issue."

"Upon my honor, monsieur," replied De Guiche, "it is six months since I
last practiced."

"No, comte, after due reflection, I will not fight, at least, with you.
I will await Bragelonne's return, since you say it is Bragelonne who
finds fault with me."

"Oh no, indeed! You shall not wait until Bragelonne's return," exclaimed
the comte, losing all command over himself, "for you have said that
Bragelonne might, possibly, be some time before he returns; and, in the
meanwhile, your wicked insinuations would have had their effect."

"Yet, I shall have my excuse. So take care."

"I will give you a week to finish your recovery."