The animal was hit in the quarters--he made a furious bound, and plunged forward.

At that moment D'Artagnan's horse fell dead.
"I am dishonored!" thought the musketeer; "I am a miserable wretch! for pity's sake, M.Fouquet, throw me one of your pistols, that I may blow out my brains!" But Fouquet rode away.
"For mercy's sake! for mercy's sake!" cried D'Artagnan; "that which you will not do at this moment, I myself will do within an hour, but here, upon this road, I should die bravely; I should die esteemed; do me that service, M.Fouquet!" M.Fouquet made no reply, but continued to trot on.

D'Artagnan began to run after his enemy.

Successively he threw away his hat, his coat, which embarrassed him, and then the sheath of his sword, which got between his legs as he was running.

The sword in his hand itself became too heavy, and he threw it after the sheath.