Porthos and Aramis, mute and trembling at the top of the parapet, cried to the musketeer, “Good D’Artagnan, take care!”
D’Artagnan made them a sign to keep silence, raised his foot with ominous calmness to mount the stair, and turned round, sword in hand, to see if the officer followed him. The officer made a sign of the cross and stepped up. Porthos and Aramis, who knew their D’Artagnan, uttered a cry, and rushed down to prevent the blow they thought they already heard. But D’Artagnan passed his sword into his left hand,—
“Monsieur,” said he to the officer, in an agitated voice, “you are a brave man. You will all the better comprehend what I am going to say to you now.”
“Speak, Monsieur d’Artagnan, speak,” replied the officer.
“These gentlemen we have just seen, and against whom you have orders, are my friends.”
“I know they are, monsieur.”
“You can understand whether or not I ought to act towards them as your instructions prescribe.”
“I understand your reserve.”
“Very well; permit me, then, to converse with them without a witness.”
“Monsieur d’Artagnan, if I yield to your request, if I do that which you beg me, I break my word; but if I do not do it, I disoblige you. I prefer the one dilemma to the other. Converse with your friends, and do not despise me, monsieur, for doing this for your sake, whom I esteem and honor; do not despise me for committing for you, and you alone, an unworthy act.” D’Artagnan, much agitated, threw his arm round the neck of the young man, and then went up to his friends. The officer, enveloped in his cloak, sat down on the damp, weed-covered steps.