“I know it.”
And now the ranks began to open. D’Artagnan held the bridle of Athos’s horse and Porthos that of Aramis.
Both of them attempted to lead his prisoner off the battle-field.
This movement revealed the spot where Winter’s body had fallen. Mordaunt had found it out and was gazing on his dead relative with an expression of malignant hatred.
Athos, though now cool and collected, put his hand to his belt, where his loaded pistols yet remained.
“What are you about?” said D’Artagnan.
“Let me kill him.”
“We are all four lost, if by the least gesture you