“Faith! I don’t very well know. He hurt my shoulder. And you, Porthos?”
“Faith! I am going to fight—because I am going to fight,” answered Porthos, reddening.
Athos, whose keen eye lost nothing, perceived a faintly sly smile pass over the lips of the young Gascon as he replied, “We had a short discussion upon dress.”
“And you, Aramis?” asked Athos.
“Oh, ours is a theological quarrel,” replied Aramis, making a sign to d’Artagnan to keep secret the cause of their duel.
Athos indeed saw a second smile on the lips of d’Artagnan.
“Indeed?” said Athos.
“Yes; a passage of St. Augustine, upon which we could not agree,” said the Gascon.
“Decidedly, this is a clever fellow,” murmured Athos.
“And now you are assembled, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, “permit me to offer you my apologies.”
At this word apologies , a cloud passed over the brow of Athos, a haughty smile curled the lip of Porthos, and a negative sign was the reply of Aramis.
“You do not understand me, gentlemen,” said d’Artagnan, throwing up his head, the sharp and bold lines of which were at the moment gilded by a bright ray of the sun. “I asked to be excused in case I should not be able to discharge my debt to all three; for M. Athos has the right to kill