“To be sure they may,” said Aramis; “and this very day we write the letters, we give them money, and they set out.”

“We will give them money?” replied Athos. “Have you any money, then?”

The four friends looked at one another, and a cloud came over the brows which had been for an instant so cheerful.

“Quick!” cried D’Artagnan; “I see black points and red points moving yonder. It is a whole army!”

“’Pon my word,” said Athos; “yes, there they are. Do you see the sneaks coming without drums or trumpets?—Ah! have you finished, Grimaud?”

Grimaud made a sign in the affirmative, and pointed to a dozen bodies which he had set up in the most picturesque attitudes—some carrying arms, others seeming to aim, and the rest sword in hand.

“Bravo!” said Athos; “that does honour to your imagination.”

“Very good,” said Porthos. “I should like, however, to understand.”

“Let us get away first,” said D’Artagnan; “and you can understand afterwards.”

“Faith!” said Athos, “I have nothing more to say against a retreat. Our wager called for an hour: we have stayed an hour and a half. Nothing can be said; let us be off, gentlemen, let us be off!”

Grimaud had already gone on with the basket and the dessert. The four friends followed.

An instant later a furious firing was heard.

“What’s that?” asked Porthos; “what are they firing at now? I hear no balls, and I see no one!”

“They are firing on our dead men,” replied Athos.

“But our dead men will not return their fire.”

“You are right. Then they will fancy it is an ambuscade, they will deliberate; and by the time they find out the joke we shall be out of range. That’s why it is useless to get a pleurisy by going too fast.”

“Oh, I understand now,” said the astonished Porthos.

“That’s very lucky,” said Athos, shrugging his shoulders.

The French, seeing the four friends returning leisurely, uttered shouts of enthusiasm.

At length a fresh discharge was heard, and this time the balls came rattling among the stones around the four friends, and whistling sharply in their ears. The Rochellais had just taken possession of the bastion.

“What bunglers!” said Athos. “How many have we killed of them—a dozen?”

“Or fifteen.”

“How many did we crush under the wall?”

“Eight or ten.”