Remarking that the young man was not quite convinced, and received the warning as an idle threat, he shrugged his shoulders and walked leisurely towards the table, upon which lay a writing-case and a pen, the length of which would have terrified the topographical Porthos. De Wardes then saw that nothing could well be more seriously intended than the threat in question, for the Bastile, even at that period, was already held in dread. He advanced a step towards Raoul, and, in an almost unintelligible voice, said,--“I offer my apologies in the terms which M. d’Artagnan just now dictated, and which I am forced to make to you.” “One moment, monsieur,” said the musketeer, with the greatest tranquillity, “you mistake the terms of the apology. I did not say, ‘and which I am forced to make’; I said, ‘and which my conscience induces me to make.’ This latter expression, believe me, is better than the former; and it will be far preferable, since it will be the most truthful expression of your own sentiments.” “I subscribe to it,” said De Wardes; “but submit, gentlemen, that a thrust of the sword through the body, as was the custom formerly, was far better than tyranny like this.” “No, monsieur,” replied Buckingham; “for the sword-thrust, when received, was no indication that a particular person was right or wrong; it only showed that he was more or less skillful in the use of the weapon.” “Monsieur!” exclaimed De Wardes. “There, now,” interrupted D’Artagnan, “you are going to say something very rude, and I am rendering a service by stopping you in time.” “Is that all, monsieur?” inquired De Wardes. “Absolutely everything,” replied D’Artagnan; “and these gentlemen, as well as myself, are quite satisfied with you.” “Believe me, monsieur, that your reconciliations are not successful.” “In what way?” “Because, as we are now about to separate, I would wager that M. de Bragelonne and myself are greater enemies than ever.” “You are deceived, monsieur, as far as I am concerned,” returned Raoul; “for I do not retain the slightest animosity in my heart against you.” This last blow overwhelmed De Wardes. He cast his eyes around him like a man bewildered. D’Artagnan saluted most courteously the gentlemen who had been present at the explanation; and every one, on leaving the room, shook hands with him; but not one hand was held out towards De Wardes. “Oh!” exclaimed the young man, “can I not find some one on whom to wreak my vengeance?” “You can, monsieur, for I am here,” whispered a voice full of menace in his ear. De Wardes turned round, and saw the Duke of Buckingham, who, having probably remained behind with that intention, had just approached him. “You, monsieur?” exclaimed De Wardes.