“But I can never escape,” said d’Artagnan, “with such enemies. First, my stranger of Meung; then de Wardes, to whom I have given three sword wounds; next Milady, whose secret I have discovered; finally, the cardinal, whose vengeance I have balked.”
“Well,” said Athos, “that only makes four; and we are four—one for one. Pardieu! if we may believe the signs Grimaud is making, we are about to have to do with a very different number of people. What is it, Grimaud? Considering the gravity of the occasion, I permit you to speak, my friend; but be laconic, I beg. What do you see?”
“A troop.”
“Of how many persons?”
“Twenty men.”
“What sort of men?”
“Sixteen pioneers, four soldiers.”
“How far distant?”
“Five hundred paces.”
“Good! We have just time to finish this fowl and to drink one glass of wine to your health, d’Artagnan.”
“To your health!” repeated Porthos and Aramis.
“Well, then, to my health! although I am very much afraid that your good wishes will not be of great service to me.”
“Bah!” said Athos, “God is great, as say the followers of Mohammed, and the future is in his hands.”