The bastion was occupied only by a dozen dead bodies， French and Rochellais.
“Gentlemen，” said Athos， who had assumed the command of the expedition， “while Grimaud is laying out the breakfast， let us begin by getting together the guns and cartridges； we can talk while performing that task. These gentlemen，” added he， pointing to the bodies， “will not hear us.”
“But still we might throw them into the ditch，” said Porthos， “after assuring ourselves they have nothing in their pockets.”
“Yes，” said Athos； “that’s Grimaud’s business.”
“Well， then，” cried D’Artagnan， “let Grimaud search them， and throw them over the walls.”
“By no means，” said Athos； “they may be useful to us.”
“These dead bodies useful to us？” exclaimed Porthos. “Why， you are crazy， my dear friend.”
“‘Judge not rashly，’ say the Gospels and the cardinal，” replied Athos. “How many guns， gentlemen？”
“Twelve，” replied Aramis.
“How many cartridges？”
“A hundred.”
“That’s quite as many as we shall want. Let us load the guns.”
The four musketeers went to work. As they were loading the last musket Grimaud signified that breakfast was ready.
Athos replied， still by gestures， that it was all right， and showed Grimaud a kind of pepper-box， making him understand that he was to stand as sentinel. Only， to alleviate the tedium of the duty， Athos allowed him to take a loaf， two cutlets， and a bottle of wine.
“And now， to table，” said Athos.
The four friends sat down on the ground， with their legs crossed， like Turks or tailors.
“But the secret？” said D’Artagnan.
“The secret is，” said Athos， “that I saw milady last night.”
D’Artagnan was lifting a glass to his lips， but at the mention of milady his hand shook so that he put the glass on the ground again， for fear of spilling the contents.
“You saw your wi—”
“Hush！” interrupted Athos； “you forget， my dear D’Artagnan， that these gentlemen have not been initiated， as you have， into the secrets of my family affairs. I saw milady.”
“And where？” demanded D’Artagnan.
“About two leagues from here， at the tavern of the Red Dovecot.” And Athos told D’Artagnan of the events that had taken place at the tavern.
“Do you know，” said Porthos， “that to twist that damned milady’s neck would be less of a sin than to twist the necks of these poor Huguenot devils， who have committed no other crimes than singing in French the Psalms that we sing in Latin？”
“What says the abbé？” asked Athos quietly.
“I say I am entirely of Porthos’s opinion，” replied Aramis.
“And I too，” said D’Artagnan.
“Fortunately， she is a good way off，” said Porthos， “for I confess she would make me very uncomfortable if she were here.”
“She makes me uncomfortable in England as well as in France，” said Athos.
“She makes me uncomfortable wherever she is，” said D’Artagnan.
“But when you had her in your power， why did you not drown， her， or strangle her， or hang her？” said Porthos. “It is only the dead who don’t come back again.”
“You think so， do you， Porthos？” replied the musketeer， with a sad smile， which D’Artagnan alone understood.
“I have an idea，” said D’Artagnan.
“What is it？” cried the musketeers.
“To arms！” shouted Grimaud.
The young men sprang up and seized their muskets.
A small troop advanced， consisting of from twenty to twenty-five men； they were soldiers of the garrison.
“Shall we return to the camp？” suggested Porthos. “I don’t think the sides are equal.”
“Impossible， for three reasons，” replied Athos. “The first is， that we have not finished breakfast； the second is， that we have still some very important things to talk about； and the third is， that it yet lacks ten minutes before the hour will be over.”
“Well， then，” said Aramis， “we must form a plan of battle.”
“It’s very simple，” replied Athos. “As soon as the enemy are within range， we must fire on them. If they continue to advance， we must fire again. We must fire as long as we have loaded guns. Then， if the rest of the troop persist in mounting to the assault， we will allow the besiegers to reach the ditch， and then we will push down on their heads that strip of wall which seems to stand only by a miracle of equilibrium.”
“Bravo！” cried Porthos. “Decidedly， Athos， you were born to be a general， and the cardinal， who fancies himself a great captain， is nothing to you.”
“Gentlemen，” said Athos， “no divided attention， I beg. Let each one pick out his man.”
“I cover mine，” said D’Artagnan.
“And I mine，” said Porthos.
“And I idem，” said Aramis.
“Fire， then！” said Athos.
The four muskets made but one report， but four men fell.
The drum immediately beat， and the little troop advanced double-quick.
Then the musket-shots were repeated without regularity， but always aimed with the same correctness. Nevertheless， as if they had been aware of the numerical weakness of the friends， the Rochellais continued to advance on the run.
At every three shots at least two men fell； but the approach of those who remained was not slackened.
On reaching the foot of the bastion， there were still more than a dozen or fifteen of the enemy. A last discharge welcomed them， but did not stop them. They leaped into the ditch， and prepared to scale the breach.
“Now， my friends，” said Athos， “finish them at a blow. To the wall！ to the wall！”
And the four friends， aided by Grimaud， pushed with the barrels of their muskets an enormous side of the wall， which bent over as if swayed by the wind， and giving way from its base， fell with a horrible crash into the ditch. Then a fearful cry was heard， a cloud of dust mounted toward the sky， and all was over！
“Can we have destroyed them all， from the first to the last？” said Athos.
“Faith， it seems so，” said D’Artagnan.
“No，” cried Porthos； “there go three or four， limping away.”
In fact， three or four of these unfortunate men， covered with dirt and blood， were escaping along the hollow way， and were making for the city. These were all that were left of the little troop.
Athos looked at his watch.
