The Englishmen were all men of rank; consequently the odd names of their adversaries were for them not only a matter of surprise, but of annoyance. “But after all,” said Lord de Winter, when the three friends had been named, “we do not know who you are. We cannot fight with such names; they are names of shepherds.” “Therefore your lordship may suppose they are only assumed names,” said Athos. “Which only gives us a greater desire to know the real ones,” replied the Englishman. “You played very willingly with us without knowing our names,” said Athos, “by the same token that you won our horses.” “That is true, but we then only risked our pistoles; this time we risk our blood. One plays with anybody; but one fights only with equals.” “And that is but just,” said Athos, and he took aside the one of the four Englishmen with whom he was to fight, and communicated his name in a low voice. Porthos and Aramis did the same. “Does that satisfy you?” said Athos to his adversary. “Do you find me of sufficient rank to do me the honor of crossing swords with me?” “Yes, monsieur,” said the Englishman, bowing. “Well! now shall I tell you something?” added Athos, coolly. “What?” replied the Englishman. “Why, that is that you would have acted much more wisely if you had not required me to make myself known.” “Why so?” “Because I am believed to be dead, and have reasons for wishing nobody to know I am living; so that I shall be obliged to kill you to prevent my secret from roaming over the fields.” The Englishman looked at Athos, believing that he jested, but Athos did not jest the least in the world. “Gentlemen,” said Athos, addressing at the same time his companions and their adversaries, “are we ready?” “Yes!” answered the Englishmen and the Frenchmen, as with one voice. “On guard, then!” cried Athos. Immediately eight swords glittered in the rays of the setting sun, and the combat began with an animosity very natural between men twice enemies. Athos fenced with as much calmness and method as if he had been practicing in a fencing school. Porthos, abated, no doubt, of his too-great confidence by his adventure of Chantilly, played with skill and prudence. Aramis, who had the third canto of his poem to finish, behaved like a man in haste. Athos killed his adversary first. He hit him but once, but as he had foretold, that hit was a mortal one; the sword pierced his heart. Second, Porthos stretched his upon the grass with a wound through his thigh, As the Englishman, without making any further resistance, then surrendered his sword, Porthos took him up in his arms and bore him to his carriage. Aramis pushed his so vigorously that after going back fifty paces, the man ended by fairly taking to his heels, and disappeared amid the hooting of the lackeys.