Twenty Years After Chapter 59 Page 13

well,” cried D’Artagnan, at last, furious, “very well, since you wish it, let us leave our bones in this beggarly land, where it is always cold, where fine weather is a fog, fog is rain, and rain a deluge; where the sun represents the moon and the moon a cream cheese; in truth, whether we die here or elsewhere matters little, since we must die.”

“Only reflect, my good fellow,” said Athos, “it is but dying rather sooner.”

“Pooh! a little sooner or a little later, it isn’t worth quarreling over.”

“If I am astonished at anything,” remarked Porthos, sententiously, “it is that it has not already happened.”

“Oh, it will