A dark, ironical smile flitted across his lips; he wished to reply, but the effort hastened the snapping of the chord of life--he expired.
"Oh! all this is very frightful!" murmured Raoul: "let us begone, monsieur le chevalier." "You are not wounded ?" asked D'Artagnan.
"Not at all; thank you." "That's well! Thou art a brave fellow, _mordioux!_ The head of the father, and the arm of Porthos.

Ah! if he had been here, good Porthos, you would have seen something worth looking at." Then as if by way of remembrance-- "But where the devil can that brave Porthos be ?" murmured D'Artagnan.
"Come, chevalier, pray come away," urged Raoul.
"One minute, my friend; let me take my thirty-seven and a half pistols, and I am at your service.

The house is a good property," added D'Artagnan, as he entered the Image-de-Notre-Dame, "but decidedly, even if it were less profitable, I should prefer its being in another quarter.".