one who is afraid."

"Zounds!" exclaimed D'Artagnan, bounding toward him, "who says that
Athos is afraid?"

"Let him have his say, D'Artagnan," said Athos, with a smile of sadness
and contempt.

"Is it your decision, Athos?" resumed the Gascon.

"Irrevocably."

"You hear, sir," said D'Artagnan, turning to Mordaunt. "The Comte de la
Fere will not do you the honor of fighting with you. Choose one of us to
replace the Comte de la Fere."

"As long as I don't fight with him it is the same to me with whom I
fight. Put your names into a hat and draw lots."

"A good idea," said D'Artagnan.

"At least that will conciliate us all," said Aramis.

"I should never have thought of that," said Porthos, "and yet it is very
simple."

"Come, Aramis," said D'Artagnan, "write this for us in those neat little
characters in which you wrote to Marie Michon that the mother of this
gentleman intended to assassinate the Duke of Buckingham."

Mordaunt sustained this new attack without wincing. He stood with
his arms folded, apparently as calm as any man could be in such
circumstances. If he had not courage he had what is very like it,
namely, pride.

Aramis went to Cromwell's desk, tore off three bits of paper of equal
size, wrote on the first his own name and on the others those of his two
companions, and presented them open to Mordaunt, who by a movement of
his head indicated that he left the matter entirely to Aramis. He
then rolled them separately and put them in a hat, which he handed to
Mordaunt.

Mordaunt put his hand into the hat, took out one of the three papers and
disdainfully dropped it on the table without reading it.

"Ah! serpent," muttered D'Artagnan, "I would give my chance of a
captaincy in the mousquetaires for that to be my name."

Aramis opened the paper, and in a voice trembling with hate and
vengeance read "D'Artagnan."

The Gascon uttered a cry of joy and turning to Mordaunt:

"I hope, sir," said he, "you have no objection to make."

"None, whatever," replied the other, drawing his sword and resting the
point on his boot.

The moment that D'Artagnan saw that his wish was accomplished and his
man would not escape him, he recovered his usual tranquillity. He turned
up his cuffs neatly and rubbed the sole of his right boot on the floor,
but did not fail, however, to remark that Mordaunt was looking about him
in a singular manner.

"Are you ready, sir?" he said at last.

"I was waiting for you, si