pushed back his chair to the wall and bowed to Mordaunt with true French grace.

“At your service, sir,” he continued. “My sword is shorter than yours, it’s true, but, bah!

I think the arm will make up for the sword.”

“Halt!” cried Porthos coming forward. “I begin, and without any rhetoric.”

“Allow me, Porthos,” said Aramis.

Athos did not move. He might have been taken for a statue. Even his breathing seemed to be arrested.

“Gentlemen,” said D’Artagnan, “you shall have your turn. Monsieur Mordaunt dislikes you sufficiently not to refuse you afterward.