then!” said Menneville, firing his pistol almost within an arm’s length. But before the cock fell, D’Artagnan had struck up Menneville’s arm with the hilt of his sword and passed the blade through his body.

“I told you plainly to keep yourself quiet,” said D’Artagnan to Menneville, who rolled at his feet.

“Passage! passage!” cried the companions of Menneville, at first terrified, but soon recovering, when they found they had only to do with two men. But those two men were hundred-armed giants; the swords flew about in their hands like the burning glaive of the archangel. They pierce with its point, strike with the flat, cut with the edge; every stroke brings down a man. “For the king!” cried D’Artagnan, to every man