In the meantime the people gathered around D'Artagnan,--they felicitated, they cheered him.

He wiped his brow, streaming with sweat, and his sword, streaming with blood.

He shrugged his shoulders at seeing Menneville writhing at his feet in the last convulsions.

And, while Raoul turned away his eyes in compassion, he pointed to the musketeers the gibbets laden with their melancholy fruit.

"Poor devils!" said he, "I hope they died blessing me, for I saved them with great difficulty." These words caught the ear of Menneville at the moment when he himself was breathing his last sigh.