"I will take you alive!" said he; and by a prodigy of skill which this incomparable horseman alone was capable, he threw his horse forward to within ten paces of the white horse; already his hand was stretched out to seize his prey.
"Kill me! kill me!" cried Fouquet, "'twould be more humane!" "No! alive--alive!" murmured the captain.
At this moment his horse made a false step for the second time, and Fouquet's again took the lead.

It was an unheard-of spectacle, this race between two horses which now only kept alive by the will of their riders.

It might be said that D'Artagnan rode, carrying his horse along between his knees.

To the furious gallop had succeeded the fast trot, and that had sunk to what might be scarcely called a trot at all.
But the chase appeared equally warm in the two fatigued _athletoe_.
D'Artagnan, quite in despair, seized his second pistol, and cocked it.
"At your horse! not at you!" cried he to Fouquet.

And he fired.