us up to him at once? The thing would be sooner over. Ha!
Count de la Fere, you wish to perish at his hands: well, I, whom you
call your son--I will not suffer it."

Aramis quietly drew his sword, which he had carried between his teeth
when he swam off from the ship.

"If he lays a hand upon the boat," said he, "I sever it from his body,
like that of a regicide, as he is."

"Wait a moment," said Porthos.

"What are you going to do?" said Aramis.

"Jump overboard and strangle him," replied the giant.

"Oh, my friends!" said Athos, in a tone of entreaty that was
irresistible; "remember that we are men and Christians! Grant me the
life of this unhappy wretch!"

D'Artagnan hung his head: Aramis lowered his sword: Porthos sat down.

"Count de la Fere," exclaimed Mordaunt, now very near the boat, "it is
you whom I implore. Have pity upon me, and that quickly, for my
strength is exhausted. Count de la Fere, where are you?"

"I am here, sir," replied Athos, with that noble and dignified air
that was habitual to him. "Take my hand, and come into our boat."

"I cannot bear to witness it," said D'Artagnan; "such weakness is
really pitiable." And he turned towards his two remaining friends,
who, on their part, recoiled to the other side of the boat, as if
unwilling to touch the man to whom Athos alone did not fear to give
his hand. Mordaunt made an effort, raised himself up, and seized the
arm extended to him.

"So," said Athos, leaning over the gunwale of the boat--"now place
your other hand here;" and he offered him his shoulder as a support,
so that his head nearly touched that of Mordaunt; and for a moment the
two deadly foes seemed to embrace each other like brothers. Mordaunt
grasped the count's collar with his cold and dripping fingers.

"And now, sir, you are saved," said Athos; "compose yourself."

"Ah, my mother!" exclaimed Mordaunt, with the look of a demon, and an
accent of hatred impossible to render, "I can offer you but one
victim, but it is the one you would yourself have chosen!"

D'Artagnan uttered a cry; Porthos raised his oar; Aramis sprang
forward, his naked sword in his hand. But it was too late. By a last
effort, and with a yell of triumph, Mordaunt dragged Athos into the
water, compressing his throat, and winding his limbs round him like
the coils of a serpent. Without uttering a word, or calling for help,
Athos strove for a moment to maintain himself on the surface of the
water. But his mo