“Fortunately, she is far off,” said Porthos, “for I confess she would worry me if she were here.”
“She worries me in England as well as in France,” said Athos.
“She worries me everywhere,” said d’Artagnan.
“But when you held her in your power, why did you not drown her, strangle her, hang her?” said Porthos. “It is only the dead who do not return.”
“You think so, Porthos?” replied the musketeer, with a sad smile which d’Artagnan alone understood.
“I have an idea,” said d’Artagnan.
“What is it?” said the musketeers.
“To arms!” cried Grimaud.
The young men sprang up, and seized their muskets.
This time a small troop advanced, consisting of from twenty to twenty-five men; but they were not pioneers, they were soldiers of the garrison.
“Shall we return to the camp?” said Porthos. “I don’t think the sides are equal.”
“Impossible, for three reasons,” replied Athos. “The first, that we have not finished breakfast; the second, that we still have some very important things to say; and the third, that it yet wants ten minutes before the lapse of the hour.”
“Well, then,” said Aramis, “we must form a plan of battle.”