nan. But on issuing
from the slope, a single echo struck the air; it was that of the steps
of D'Artagnan's horse, which rolled along like thunder. Fouquet turned
round, and saw behind him, within a hundred paces, his enemy bent over
the neck of his horse. There could be no doubt--the shining baldrick,
the red cassock--it was a musketeer. Fouquet slackened his hand
likewise, and the white horse placed twenty feet more between his
adversary and himself.

"Oh, but," thought D'Artagnan, becoming very anxious, "that is not
a common horse M. Fouquet is upon--let us see!" And he attentively
examined with his infallible eye the shape and capabilities of the
courser. Round full quarters--a thin long tail--large hocks--thin legs,
as dry as bars of steel--hoofs hard as marble. He spurred his own, but
the distance between the two remained the same. D'Artagnan listened
attentively; not a breath of the horse reached him, and yet he seemed
to cut the air. The black horse, on the contrary, began to puff like any
blacksmith's bellows.

"I must overtake him, if I kill my horse," thought the musketeer; and he
began to saw the mouth of the poor animal, whilst he buried the rowels
of his merciless spurs into his sides. The maddened horse gained twenty
toises, and came up within pistol-shot of Fouquet.

"Courage!" said the musketeer to himself, "courage! the white horse will
perhaps grow weaker, and if the horse does not fall, the master must
pull up at last." But horse and rider remained upright together, gaining
ground by difficult degrees. D'Artagnan uttered a wild cry, which made
Fouquet turn round, and added speed to the white horse.

"A famous horse! a mad rider!" growled the captain. "Hola! _mordioux!_
Monsieur Fouquet! stop! in the king's name!" Fouquet made no reply.

"Do you hear me?" shouted D'Artagnan, whose horse had just stumbled.

"_Pardieu!_" replied Fouquet, laconically; and rode on faster.

D'Artagnan was nearly mad; the blood rushed boiling to his temples and
his eyes. "In the king's name!" cried he again, "stop, or I will bring
you down with a pistol-shot!"

"Do!" replied Fouquet, without relaxing his speed.

D'Artagnan seized a pistol and cocked it, hoping that the double click
of the spring would stop his enemy. "You have pistols likewise," said
he, "turn and defend yourself."

Fouquet did turn round at the noise, and looking D'Artagnan full in the
face, opened, with his right hand, the part of his dress whic