“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. You can see it in his eye. So pray keep your places, like Athos, whose calmness is entirely laudable. Besides, we will have no words about it. I have particular business to settle with this gentleman and I shall and will begin.”
Porthos and Aramis drew back, disappointed, and drawing his sword D’Artagnan turned to his adversary:
“Sir, I am waiting for you.”
“And for my part, gentlemen, I admire you. You are disputing which shall fight me first, but you do not consult me who am most concerned in the matter. I hate you all, but not equally. I hope to kill all four of you, but I am more likely to kill the first than the second, the second than the third, and the third than the last. I claim, then, the right to choose my opponent. If you refuse this right you may kill me, but I shall not fight.”
“It is but fair,” said Porthos and Aramis, hoping he would choose one of them.
Athos and D’Artagnan said nothing, but their silence seemed to imply consent.