“You accuse me, therefore, of a crime, or a fault, or of some mean and cowardly act. Have the goodness to state your charge against me in precise terms.”
“In the presence of witnesses?”
“Most certainly in the presence of witnesses; and you see I have selected them as being experienced in affairs of honor.”
“You do not appreciate my delicacy, monsieur. I have accused you, it is true; but I have kept the nature of the accusation a perfect secret. I entered into no details; but have rested satisfied by expressing my hatred in the presence of those on whom a duty was almost imposed to acquaint you with it. You have not taken the discreetness I have shown into consideration, although you were interested in remaining silent. I can hardly recognize your habitual prudence in that, M. d’Artagnan.”
D’Artagnan, who was quietly biting the corner of his mustache, said, “I have already had the honor to beg you to state the particulars of the grievances you say you have against me.”
“Aloud?”
“Certainly, aloud.”
“In that case, I will speak.”
“Speak, monsieur,” said D’Artagnan, bowing; “we are all listening to you.”
“Well, monsieur, it is not a question of a personal injury towards myself, but one towards my father.”