:

"No, sir! I wish to see everything."

"If your majesty wishes to look out--well, then, look!" replied
D'Artagnan. And turning with that fury which made him so formidable, he
rushed toward the chief of the insurgents, a man who, with a huge sword
in his hand, was trying to hew a passage to the coach door through the
musketeers.

"Make room!" cried D'Artagnan. "Zounds! give way!"

At these words the man with a pistol and sword raised his head, but it
was too late. The blow was sped by D'Artagnan; the rapier had pierced
his bosom.

"Ah! confound it!" cried the Gascon, trying in vain, too late, to
retract the thrust. "What the devil are you doing here, count?"

"Accomplishing my destiny," replied Rochefort, falling on one knee. "I
have already got up again after three stabs from you, I shall never rise
after this fourth."

"Count!" said D'Artagnan, with some degree of emotion, "I struck without
knowing that it was you. I am sorry, if you die, that you should die
with sentiments of hatred toward me."

Rochefort extended his hand to D'Artagnan, who took it. The count wished
to speak, but a gush of blood stifled him. He stiffened in the last
convulsions of death and expired.

"Back, people!" cried D'Artagnan, "your leader is dead; you have no
longer any business here."

Indeed, as if De Rochefort had been the very soul of the attack, the
crowd who had followed and obeyed him took to flight on seeing him fall.
D'Artagnan charged, with a party of musketeers, up the Rue du Coq, and
the portion of the mob he assailed disappeared like smoke, dispersing
near the Place Saint Germain-l'Auxerrois and taking the direction of the
quays.

D'Artagnan returned to help Porthos, if Porthos needed help; but
Porthos, for his part, had done his work as conscientiously as
D'Artagnan. The left of the carriage was as well cleared as the right,
and they drew up the blind of the window which Mazarin, less heroic than
the king, had taken the precaution to lower.

Porthos looked very melancholy.

"What a devil of a face you have, Porthos! and what a strange air for a
victor!"

"But you," answered Porthos, "seem to me agitated."

"There's a reason! Zounds! I have just killed an old friend."

"Indeed!" replied Porthos, "who?"

"That poor Count de Rochefort."

"Well! exactly like me! I have just killed a man whose face is not
unknown to me. Unluckily, I hit him on the head and immediately his face
was covered with blood."

"A