"Alexandre Dumas. The Three Musketeers." - читать интересную книгу автора

attention to the exasperation of D'Artagnan, who, however placed himself
between him and them. "It is a color very well known in botany, but till
the present time very rare among horses."
"There are people who laugh at the horse that would not dare to laugh
at the master," cried the young emulator of the furious Treville.
"I do not often laugh, sir," replied the stranger, "as you may
perceive by the expression of my countenance; but nevertheless I retain the
privilege of laughing when I please."
"And I," cried D'Artagnan, "will allow no man to laugh when it
displeases me!"
"Indeed, sir," continued the stranger, more calm than ever; "well,
that is perfectly right!" and turning on his heel, was about to re-enter
the hostelry by the front gate, be-neath which D'Artagnan on arriving had
observed a saddled horse.
But, D'Artagnan was not of a character to allow a man to escape him
thus who had the insolence to ridicule him. He drew his sword entirely from
the scabbard, and followed him, crying, "Turn, turn, Master Joker, lest I
strike you behind!"
"Strike me!" said the other, turning on his heels, and surveying the
young man with as much astonishment as contempt. "Why, my good fellow, you
must be mad!" Then, in a suppressed tone, as if speaking to himself, "This
is annoying," continued he. "What a god-send this would be for his Majesty,
who is seeking everywhere for brave fellows to recruit for his Musketeers!"
He had scarcely finished, when D'Artagnan made such a furious lunge at
him that if he had not sprung nimbly backward, it is probable he would have
jested for the last time. The stranger, then perceiving that the matter
went beyond raillery, drew his sword, saluted his adversary, and seriously
placed himself on guard. But at the same moment, his two audi-tors,
accompanied by the host, fell upon D'Artagnan with sticks, shovels and
tongs. This caused so rapid and complete a diversion from the attack that
D'Artagnan's adversary, while the latter turned round to face this shower
of blows, sheathed his sword with the same precision, and instead of an
actor, which he had nearly been, became a spectator of the fight--a part in
which he acquitted himself with his usual impassiveness, muttering,
nevertheless, "A plague upon these Gascons! Replace him on his orange
horse, and let him begone!"
"Not before I have killed you, poltroon!" cried D'Artagnan, making the
best face possible, and never retreating one step before his three
assailants, who continued to shower blows upon him.
"Another gasconade!" murmured the gentleman. "By my honor, these
Gascons are in-corrigible! Keep up the dance, then, since he will have it
so. When he is tired, he will per-haps tell us that he has had enough of
it."
But the stranger knew not the headstrong personage he had to do with;
D'Artagnan was not the man ever to cry for quarter. The fight was therefore
prolonged for some seconds; but at length D'Artagnan dropped his sword,
which was broken in two pieces by the blow of a stick. Another blow full
upon his forehead at the same moment brought him to the ground, covered
with blood and almost fainting.
It was at this moment that people came flocking to the scene of action