" Make way ! make way ! " cried the companions of
Menneville, at first terrified, but soon recovering, when
they perceived they had to do with only two men. But
those two men are hundred-ai-med giants ; the sword flies
about in their hands like the flaming brand of the arch-
angel. It pierces with its point, strikes with its back,
cuts with its edge ; every stroke brings down its man.
" For the king ! " cried D'Artaguan, to every man he
struck at, — that is to say, to every man that fell.
" For the king ! " repeated Raoul.
This cry became the watchword for the musketeers,
who, guided by it, joined D'Artagnan. During this time
the archers, recovering from the panic they had under-
gone, charge the aggressors in the rear, and, regular as
mill-strokes, overturn or knock down all that oppose them.
The crowd, which sees swords gleaming and drops of
blood flying in the air, — the crowd falls back, and crushes
itself At length cries for mercy and of despair resound ;
that is the farewell of the vanquished. The two con-
demned men are again in the hands of the archers.
