pretended, the animal with his hand, he put this bit of burning tinder in his ear. It was necessary to be as good a horseman as he was to risk such a scheme, for no sooner had the animal felt the burning tinder than he uttered a cry of pain and reared and jumped as if he had been mad.
The soldiers, whom he was nearly trampling, ran away.
“Help! help!” cried D’Artagnan; “stop — my horse has the staggers.”
In an instant the horse’s eyes grew bloodshot and he was white with foam.
“Help!” cried D’Artagnan. “What! will you let me be killed? Jesus Seigneur!”
No sooner had he uttered this cry than the door opened and