This raillery exasperated Jussac. “We will charge upon you, then,” said he, “if you disobey.”
“There are five of them,” said Athos, half aloud, “and we are but three; we shall be beaten again, and must die on the spot, for, on my part, I declare I will never appear again before the captain as a conquered man.”
Athos, Porthos, and Aramis instantly drew near one another, while Jussac drew up his soldiers.
This short interval was sufficient to determine D’Artagnan on the part he was to take. It was one of those events which decide the life of a man; it was a choice between the king and the cardinal—the choice made, it must be persisted in. To fight, that was to disobey the law, that was to risk his head, that was to make at one blow an enemy of a minister more powerful than the king himself. All this the young man perceived, and yet, to his praise we speak it, he did not hesitate a second. Turning towards Athos and his friends, “Gentlemen,” said he, “allow me to correct your words, if you please. You said you were but three, but it appears to me we are four.”
“But you are not one of us,” said Porthos.
“That’s true,” replied D’Artagnan; “I have not the uniform, but I have the spirit. My heart is that of a Musketeer; I feel it, monsieur, and that impels me on.”
“Withdraw, young man,” cried Jussac, who doubtless, by his gestures and the expression of his countenance, had guessed D’Artagnan’s design. “You may retire; we consent to that. Save your skin; begone quickly.”
D’Artagnan did not budge.
“Decidedly, you are a brave fellow,” said Athos, pressing the young man’s hand.
“Come, come, choose your part,” replied Jussac.