“Poor beast! and wounded, too?” said the musketeer.

“He will go, I tell you; I know him; but we can do better still, let us both get up, and ride slowly.”

“We can try,” said the captain. But they had scarcely charged the animal with this double load, when he began to stagger, and then with a great effort walked a few minutes, then staggered again, and sank down dead by the side of the black horse, which he had just managed to come up to.

“We will go on foot — destiny wills it so — the walk will be pleasant,” said Fouquet, passing his arm through that of D’Artagnan.

“Mordioux!” cried the latter, with a fixed eye, a contracted brow, and a swelling heart —