“D’Artagnan does not tell you, Raoul,” said Athos, in his turn, “that he was reckoned one of the finest swordsmen of his time — a knuckle of iron, a wrist of steel, a sure eye and a glance of fire; that’s what his adversary met with. He was eighteen, only three years older than you are, Raoul, when I saw him set to work, pitted against tried men.”

“And did Monsieur D’Artagnan come off the conqueror?” asked the young man, with glistening eye.

“I killed one man, if I recollect rightly,” replied D’Artagnan, with a look of inquiry directed to Athos; “another I disarmed or wounded, I don’t remember which.”

“Wounded!” said Athos; “it was a phenomenon of skill.”