“Well?” inquired D’Artagnan.
“Well, if he is dead,” said Athos, “he has not been so long, for he is still warm.
But no, his heart is beating. Ho, there, my friend!”
The wounded man heaved a sigh. D’Artagnan took some water in the hollow of his hand and threw it upon his face. The man opened his eyes, made an effort to raise his head, and fell back again. The wound was in the top of his skull and blood was flawing copiously.
Aramis dipped a cloth into some water and applied it to the gash. Again the wounded man opened his eyes and looked in astonishment at these strangers, who appeared to pity him.
“You are among