“Well, then,” said Mordaunt, “I choose for my adversary the man who, not thinking himself worthy to be called Comte de la Fere, calls himself Athos.”
Athos sprang up, but after an instant of motionless silence he said, to the astonishment of his friends, “Monsieur Mordaunt, a duel between us is impossible. Submit this honour to somebody else.” And he sat down.
“Ah!” said Mordaunt, with a sneer, “there’s one who is afraid.”
“Zounds!” exclaimed D’Artagnan, bounding toward him, “who says that Athos is afraid?”
“Let him have his say, D’Artagnan,” said Athos, with a smile of sadness and contempt.
“Is it your decision, Athos?” resumed the Gascon.
“Irrevocably.”
“You hear, sir,” said D’Artagnan, turning to Mordaunt. “The Comte de la Fere will not do you the honor of fighting with you. Choose one of us to replace the Comte de la Fere.”
“As long as I don’t fight with him it is the same to me with whom I fight. Put your names into a hat and draw lots.”
“A good idea,” said D’Artagnan.