"A lesson, monsieur!" replied D'Artagnan; "that is rather a severe expression."
"It is the expression of a man who is always accustomed to look his enemies in the face."
"Oh, if that is all, there is no fear of your turning your back on anybody," and enchanted at his own wit, the young man walked away in fits of laughter.
Porthos foamed with rage, and rushed after D'Artagnan.
"By-and-by, by-and-by," cried the latter; "when you have not got your mantle on."
"At one o'clock then, behind the Luxembourg."
"All right; at one o'clock," replied D'Artagnan as he vanished around the corner.
But he could see no one either in the street he had passed through, or in the one his eager gaze was searching; however slowly the stranger might have walked, he had gone his way, or perhaps into some house. D'Artagnan inquired of everybody he met, but could find nothing at all about him. This chase however did him good in one way; for in proportion as the sweat started out on his forehead, his heart began to cool.
He began to think over the many unlucky things which had happened. It was scarcely eleven in the morning, and yet this morning had already brought him into disgrace with M. Treville, who must think the way D'Artagnan had left him was rather boorish.
Moreover, he had gotten himself into two fierce duels with two men, each able to kill three D'Artagnans; in a word, with two musketeers,—beings he set so high that he placed them above all other men.