"Will nothing kill him?" said Porthos.
Aramis leaned forward and spoke in a whisper to D'Artagnan. Mordaunt advanced a few yards, and raised one hand out of the water in sign of distress.
"Pity! gentlemen," cried he; "pity and mercy! My strength is leaving me, and I am about to sink."
The tone of agony in which these words were spoken awakened a feeling of compassion in the breast of Athos.
"Unhappy man!" he murmured.
"Good!" said D'Artagnan. "I like to see you pity him. On my word, I think he is swimming towards us. Does he suppose we are going to take him in? Row, Porthos, row."
And D'Artagnan plunged his oar into the water. Two or three long strokes placed twenty fathoms between the boat and the drowning man.
"Oh! you will have mercy!" cried Mordaunt. "You will not let me perish!"
"Aha! my fine fellow," said Porthos, "we have you now, I think, without a chance of escape."
"Oh, Porthos!" murmured the Count de la Fère.