As to D’Artagnan, he fought purely and simply on the defensive; and when he saw his adversary pretty well fatigued, with a vigorous side thrust sent his sword flying. The baron, finding himself disarmed, took two or three steps back, but in this movement his foot slipped and he fell backward. D’Artagnan was over him at a bound, and said to the Englishman, pointing his sword to his throat, “I could kill you, my Lord, you are completely in my hands; but I spare your life for the sake of your sister.” D’Artagnan was at the height of joy; he had realized the plan he had imagined beforehand, whose picturing had produced the smiles we noted upon his face. The Englishman, delighted at having to do with a gentleman of such a kind disposition, pressed D’Artagnan in his arms, and paid a thousand compliments to the three Musketeers, and as Porthos’s adversary was already installed in the carriage, and as Aramis’s had taken to his heels, they had nothing to think about but the dead. As Porthos and Aramis were undressing him, in the hope of finding his wound not mortal, a large purse dropped from his clothes. D’Artagnan picked it up and offered it to Lord de Winter. “What the devil would you have me do with that?” said the Englishman. “You can restore it to his family,” said D’Artagnan. “His family will care much about such a trifle as that! His family will inherit fifteen thousand louis a year from him. Keep the purse for your lackeys.” D’Artagnan put the purse into his pocket. “And now, my young friend, for you will permit me, I hope, to give you that name,” said Lord de Winter, “on this very evening, if agreeable to you, I will present you to my sister, Milady Clarik, for I am desirous that she should take you into her good graces; and as she is not in bad odor at court, she may perhaps on some future day speak a word that will not prove useless to you.” D’Artagnan blushed with pleasure, and bowed a sign of assent. At this time Athos came up to D’Artagnan. “What do you mean to do with that purse?” whispered he. “Why, I meant to pass it over to you, my dear Athos.” “Me! why to me?” “Why, you killed him! They are the spoils of victory.” “I, the heir of an enemy!” said Athos; “for whom, then, do you take me?” “It is the custom in war,” said D’Artagnan, “why should it not be the custom in a duel?” “Even on the field of battle, I have never done that.” Porthos shrugged his shoulders; Aramis by a movement of his lips endorsed Athos. “Then,” said D’Artagnan, “let us give the money to the lackeys, as Lord de Winter desired us to do.” “Yes,” said Athos; “let us give the money to the lackeys—not to our lackeys, but to the lackeys of the Englishmen.” Athos took the purse, and threw it into the hand of the coachman. “For you and your comrades.”