“Heyday!” cried D’Artagnan, drawing his sword and taking refuge behind his horse; “are you not mistaken? is it really for us that you mean your attack?”
“Here he is! we have him!” cried the horsemen, rushing on D’Artagnan with naked swords.
“Don’t let him escape!” said a loud voice.
“No, my lord; be assured we shall not.”
D’Artagnan thought it was now time for him to join in the conversation.
“Halloo, gentlemen!” he called out in his Gascon accent, “what do you want? what do you demand?”
“That thou shalt soon know,” shouted a chorus of horsemen.
“Stop, stop!” cried he whom they had addressed as “my lord;” “’tis not his voice.”
“Ah! just so, gentlemen! pray, do people get into a passion at random at Noisy? Take care, for I warn you that the first man that comes within the length of my sword—and my sword is long—I rip him up.”
The chieftain of the party drew near.