D’Artagnan,” replied Athos, without falling into the snare which his Gascon friend had prepared for him by an appeal to his parental love, “however that may be, you know in the bottom of your heart that it is true; but I am wrong to dispute with my master.
D’Artagnan, I am your prisoner — treat me as such.”
“Ah! pardieu!” said D’Artagnan, “you know you will not be my prisoner very long.”
“No,” said Aramis, “they will doubtless treat us like the prisoners of the Philipghauts.”
“And how were they treated?” asked D’Artagnan.
“Why,” said Aramis, “one-half were