defensive; and when he saw his adversary pretty well fatigued, with a vigorous side thrust sent his sword flying. The baron, finding himself disarmed, took two or three steps back, but in this movement his foot slipped and he fell backward.

D’Artagnan was over him at a bound, and said to the Englishman, pointing his sword to his throat, “I could kill you, my Lord, you are completely in my hands; but I spare your life for the sake of your sister.”

D’Artagnan was at the height of joy; he had realized the plan he had imagined beforehand, whose picturing had produced the smiles we noted upon his face.

The Englishman, delighted at having to do with a gentleman of such a kind disposition, pressed d’Artagnan in his arms, and paid a thousand compliments to the three Musketeers, and as Porthos’s