d'Artagnan.

"Within two leagues of this place, at the inn of the Red Dovecot."

"In that case I am lost," said d'Artagnan.

"Not so bad yet," replied Athos; "for by this time she must have quit
the shores of France."

D'Artagnan breathed again.

"But after all," asked Porthos, "who is Milady?"

"A charming woman!" said Athos, sipping a glass of sparkling wine.
"Villainous host!" cried he, "he has given us Anjou wine instead
of champagne, and fancies we know no better! Yes," continued he, "a
charming woman, who entertained kind views toward our friend d'Artagnan,
who, on his part, has given her some offense for which she tried to
revenge herself a month ago by having him killed by two musket shots, a
week ago by trying to poison him, and yesterday by demanding his head of
the cardinal."

"What! by demanding my head of the cardinal?" cried d'Artagnan, pale
with terror.

"Yes, that is true as the Gospel," said Porthos; "I heard her with my
own ears."

"I also," said Aramis.

"Then," said d'Artagnan, letting his arm fall with discouragement, "it
is useless to struggle longer. I may as well blow my brains out, and all
will be over."

"That's the last folly to be committed," said Athos, "seeing it is the
only one for which there is no remedy."

"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."

Then, swallowing the contents of his glass, which he put d