himself upon the other soldier, attacking
him with his sword. The conflict was not long; the wretch had nothing
to defend himself with but his discharged arquebus. The sword of the
Guardsman slipped along the barrel of the now-useless weapon, and passed
through the thigh of the assassin, who fell.

D'Artagnan immediately placed the point of his sword at his throat.

"Oh, do not kill me!" cried the bandit. "Pardon, pardon, my officer, and
I will tell you all."

"Is your secret of enough importance to me to spare your life for it?"
asked the young man, withholding his arm.

"Yes; if you think existence worth anything to a man of twenty, as you
are, and who may hope for everything, being handsome and brave, as you
are."

"Wretch," cried d'Artagnan, "speak quickly! Who employed you to
assassinate me?"

"A woman whom I don't know, but who is called Milady."

"But if you don't know this woman, how do you know her name?"

"My comrade knows her, and called her so. It was with him she agreed,
and not with me; he even has in his pocket a letter from that person,
who attaches great importance to you, as I have heard him say."

"But how did you become concerned in this villainous affair?"

"He proposed to me to undertake it with him, and I agreed."

"And how much did she give you for this fine enterprise?"

"A hundred louis."

"Well, come!" said the young man, laughing, "she thinks I am worth
something. A hundred louis? Well, that was a temptation for two wretches
like you. I understand why you accepted it, and I grant you my pardon;
but upon one condition."

"What is that?" said the soldier, uneasy at perceiving that all was not
over.

"That you will go and fetch me the letter your comrade has in his
pocket."

"But," cried the bandit, "that is only another way of killing me. How
can I go and fetch that letter under the fire of the bastion?"

"You must nevertheless make up your mind to go and get it, or I swear
you shall die by my hand."

"Pardon, monsieur; pity! In the name of that young lady you love,
and whom you perhaps believe dead but who is not!" cried the bandit,
throwing himself upon his knees and leaning upon his hand--for he began
to lose his strength with his blood.

"And how do you know there is a young woman whom I love, and that I
believed that woman dead?" asked d'Artagnan.

"By that letter which my comrade has in his pocket."

"You see, then," said d'Artagnan, "that I must have that lette