"I have fought already."
"But not quite enough, yet."
"I see, you would not be sorry to fight with me while my wounds are still open."
"No; better still."
"The deuce! you are unfortunate in the moment you have chosen; a duel, after the one I have just fought, would hardly suit me: I have lost too much blood at Boulogne: at the slightest effort my wounds would open again, and you would really have too good a bargain with me."
"True," said Guiche: "and yet, on your arrival here, your looks and your arms showed there was nothing the matter with you."
"Yes, my arms are all right, but my legs are weak; and then, I have not had a foil in my hand since that devil of a duel; and you, I am sure, have been fencing every day, in order to carry your little conspiracy against me to a successful issue."
"Upon my honor, monsieur," replied De Guiche, "it is six months since I last practiced."
"No, comte, after due reflection, I will not fight, at least with you. I shall await Bragelonne's return, since you say that it is Bragelonne who has fault to find with me."
"Oh, no, indeed!—You shall not wait until Bragelonne's return," exclaimed the comte, losing all command over himself, "for you have said that Bragelonne might, possibly, be some time before he returns; and, in the meanwhile, your wicked insinuations would have had their effect."