“Yes,” cried d’Artagnan, raising his voice in turn, “I am here, my friend.”
“Ah, good, then,” replied Athos, “we will teach them, these door breakers!”
The gentlemen had drawn their swords, but they found themselves taken between two fires. They still hesitated an instant; but, as before, pride prevailed, and a second kick split the door from bottom to top.
“Stand on one side, d’Artagnan, stand on one side,” cried Athos. “I am going to fire!”
“Gentlemen,” exclaimed d’Artagnan, whom reflection never abandoned, “gentlemen, think of what you are about. Patience, Athos! You are running your heads into a very silly affair; you will be riddled. My lackey and I will have three shots at you, and you will get as many from the cellar. You will then have our swords, with which, I can assure you, my friend and I can play tolerably well. Let me conduct your business and my own. You shall soon have something to drink; I give you my word.”
“If there is any left,” grumbled the jeering voice of Athos.
The host felt a cold sweat creep down his back.
“How! ‘If there is any left!’ ” murmured he.
“What the devil! There must be plenty left,” replied d’Artagnan. “Be satisfied of that; these two cannot have drunk all the cellar. Gentlemen, return your swords to their scabbards.”
“Well, provided you replace your pistols in your belt.”
“Willingly.”