“And in exchange for all that, not a scratch! Ah! but what is the matter with your hand, D’Artagnan? It seems to me it is bleeding.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said D’Artagnan.

“A spent ball?”

“Not even that.”

“What is it, then?”

We have said that Athos loved D’Artagnan as though he was his son, and this sombre and inflexible character sometimes felt a parent’s anxiety for the young man.

“Only grazed a little,” replied D’Artagnan. “My fingers were caught between the stone of the wall and the stone of my ring, and the skin was broken.”

“That comes of wearing diamonds, my master,” said Athos disdainfully.

“Ah, to be sure,” cried Porthos; “there is really a diamond. Why the devil, then, do we plague ourselves about money when there is a diamond?”

“Well, then,” said D’Artagnan gaily, “let us sell the diamond, and say no more about it.”

The fusillade was still going on; but the friends were out of range, and the Rochellais only fired to soothe their consciences.

“Faith! it was time that idea came into Porthos’s head. Here we are in camp; therefore, gentlemen, not a word more of this affair. We are observed; they are coming to meet us; we shall be borne in in triumph.”

In fact, as we have said, the whole camp was in commotion. More than two thousand persons had been present, as at a play, at this fortunate escapade of the four friends—an escapade of the real motive of which no one had a suspicion. Nothing was heard but cries of “Hurrah for the musketeers! Hurrah for the guards!” M. de Busigny was the first to come and shake Athos by the hand, and acknowledge that the wager was lost. The dragoon and the Swiss followed him, and all their comrades followed the dragoon and the Swiss. There was no end to the congratulations, pressures of the hand, and embraces; there was inextinguishable laughter at the Rochellais. The tumult at length became so great that the cardinal fancied there was a riot, and sent La Houdinière, his captain of the guards, to find out what was going on.

The affair was described to the messenger with all the effervescence of enthusiasm.

“Well?” asked the cardinal, on seeing La Houdinière return.

“Well, monseigneur,” replied the latter, “three musketeers and a guardsman laid a wager with M. de Busigny that they would go and breakfast in the Bastion St. Gervais, and while breakfasting they held it for two hours against the enemy, and have killed I don’t know how many Rochellais.”

“Did you inquire the names of the three musketeers?”

“Yes, monseigneur.”

“What are their names?”

“MM. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.”

“Always my three brave fellows!” murmured the cardinal. “And the guard?”