When D’Artagnan arrived in sight of the bare spot of ground which stretched out at the base of the monastery， Athos had been waiting about five minutes， and twelve o’clock was striking. He was， then， as punctual as the Samaritan woman， and the most rigorous casuist on duels could have nothing to say.
Athos， who still suffered grievously from his wound， though it had been freshly dressed by M. de Tréville’s surgeon， was seated on a stone， awaiting his adversary with that placid countenance and that noble air which never forsook him. At sight of D’Artagnan he arose and politely came a few steps to meet him. The latter， on his part， saluted his adversary with hat in hand， and his feather even touching the ground.
“Sir，” said Athos， “I have engaged two of my friends as seconds， but these two friends have not yet come. I am astonished at their delay， as it is not at all their custom to be behindhand. We will wait for these gentlemen， if you please； I have plenty of time， and it will be more correct. Ah！ here is one of them， I think.”
In fact， at the end of the Rue Vaugirard the gigantic form of Porthos began to loom.
“What！” cried D’Artagnan， “is your first second M. Porthos？”
“Yes. Does that displease you？”
“Oh， not at all.”
“And here comes the other.”
D’Artagnan turned in the direction pointed to by Athos， and perceived Aramis.
“What！” cried he， with an accent of greater astonishment than before， “is your second witness M. Aramis？”
“Doubtless he is. Are you not aware that we are never seen one without the others， and that we are called in the musketeers and the guards， at court and in the city， Athos， Porthos， and Aramis， or the Three Inseparables？ And yet， as you come from Dax or Pau——”
“From Tarbes，” said D’Artagnan.
“It is probable you are ignorant of this circumstance，” said Athos.
“Pon my word，” replied D’Artagnan， “you are well named， gentlemen； and my adventure， if it should make any noise， will prove at least that your union is not founded upon contrasts.”
In the meantime Porthos had come up， waved his hand to Athos， and then turning towards D’Artagnan， stopped astonished.
Permit us to say in passing that he had changed his baldric and laid aside his cloak.
“Ah， ah！” said he， “what does this mean？”
“This is the gentleman I am going to fight with，” said Athos， pointing to D’Artagnan with his hand， and saluting him with the same gesture.
“Why， it is with him I am also going to fight，” said Porthos.
“But not before one o’clock，” replied D’Artagnan.
“Well， and I also am going to fight with that gentleman，” said Aramis， coming up in his turn.
“But not till two o’clock，” said D’Artagnan， with the same calmness.
“But what are you going to fight about， Athos？” asked Aramis.
“Pon my word， I don’t very well know； he hurt my shoulder.—And you， Porthos？”
“ ’Pon my word， I am going to fight because I am going to fight，” answered Porthos， colouring deeply.
Athos， whose keen eyes lost nothing， perceived a sly smile pass over the lips of the young Gascon as he replied.
“We had a short discussion upon dress.”
“And you， Aramis？” asked Athos.
“Oh， ours is a theological quarrel，” replied Aramis， making a sign to D’Artagnan to keep secret the cause of their dispute.
Athos saw a second smile on the lips of D’Artagnan.
“Indeed？” said Athos.“Yes； a passage of St. Augustine， upon which we could not agree，” said the Gascon.
“By Jove！ this is a clever fellow，” murmured Athos.
“And now you are all assembled， gentlemen，” said D’Artagnan， “permit me to offer you my excuses.”
At this word excuses a cloud passed over the brow of Athos， a haughty smile curled the lip of Porthos， and a negative sign was the reply of Aramis.
“You do not understand me， gentlemen，” said D’Artagnan， throwing up his head， on which was playing at that moment a ray of sunlight， gilding its clear and bold outlines. “I ask to be excused in case I should not be able to discharge my debt to all three； for M. Athos has the right to kill me first， which must much diminish the facevalue of your bill， M. Porthos， and render yours almost worthless， M. Aramis. And now， gentlemen， I repeat， excuse me， but on that account only， and—on guard！”
At these words， with the most gallant air possible， D’Artagnan drew his sword.
The blood had mounted to the head of D’Artagnan， and at that moment he would have drawn his sword against all the musketeers in the kingdom as willingly as he now did against Athos， Porthos， and Aramis.
It was a quarter past twelve. The sun was in its zenith， and the spot chosen for the theatre of the duel was exposed to its full power.
“It is very hot，” said Athos， drawing his sword in his turn， “and yet I cannot take off my doublet， for only just now I felt my wound begin to bleed again， and I should not like to annoy the gentleman with the sight of blood which he has not drawn from me himself.”
“That is true， sir，” replied D’Artagnan； “and whether drawn by myself or another， I assure you I shall always view with regret the blood of so brave a man. I will therefore fight in my doublet， as you do.”
“Come， come， enough of such compliments，” cried Porthos； “please remember we are waiting our turn.”
“Speak for yourself when you are inclined to utter such incongruities，” interrupted Aramis. “For my part， I think what they say is very well said， and quite worthy of two gentlemen.”
“When you please， sir，” said Athos， putting himself on guard.
“I was awaiting your order，” said D’Artagnan， crossing swords.
But scarcely had the two rapiers clashed on meeting when a company of the guards of his Eminence， commanded by M. de Jussac， turned the angle of the convent.
“The cardinal’s guards！ the cardinal’s guards！” cried Aramis and Porthos at the same time. “Sheathe swords， gentlemen！ sheathe swords！”
But it was too late. The two combatants had been seen in a position which left no doubt of their intentions.“Halloo！” cried Jussac， advancing towards them， and making a sign to his men to do the same—“halloo， musketeers！ fighting here， then， are you？ And the edicts—what has become of them？”
