Athos could not conceal the nobility of his character even at this moment.
“Consider,” he said, “that these good people may have wives and children dependent upon their efforts. They are probably doing their best.”
“And we must do ours,” said D’Artagnan sternly. “We owe it to the Master.”
“We are three to one, Athos,” said Porthos. “Aramis, D’Artagnan, and I are all of one mind. Regard your double upon the boards. If he cannot spur you to action, nothing can. For my part, I shall not draw my sword against any man here, because it would be murder, but my namesake on the stage must be whipped—that is, if he shows fight.”
“I shall try a pass with this Beerbohm Tree,” said D’Artagnan, “for he numbers twelve good inches more than I do, and would appear to have some slight familiarity with his weapon.”
“And I shall prick this Aramis of Sydney Grundy also,” declared the Aramis of Dumas.
“Are you ready?”
“We are ready.”
“Then follow me.”
In a moment D’Artagnan had bounded on to the stage. After him came Athos and Aramis, while a moment later, with a sound like thunder, the enormous bulk of Porthos followed. As ill-luck would have it, the giant miscalculated his distance, and fell into the footlights. The shock extinguished half of them, and frightened the orchestra to such an extent that every member of it, with the exception of the conductor, dived like a rabbit and became invisible.