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."

"That's very simple," replied Athos. "As soon as the enemy are within
musket shot, we must fire upon them. If they continue to advance, we
must fire again. We must fire as long as we have loaded guns. If those
who remain of the troop persist in coming to the assault, we will allow
the besiegers to get as far as the ditch, and then we will push down
upon their heads that strip of wall which keeps its perpendicular by a
miracle."

"Bravo!" cried Porthos. "Decidedly, Athos, you were born to be a
general, and the cardinal, who fancies himself a great soldier, is
nothing beside 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 mine," 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 at charging
pace.

Then the shots were repeated without regularity, but always aimed
with the same accuracy. Nevertheless, as if they had been aware of the
numerical weakness of the friends, the Rochellais continued to advance
in quick time.

With every three shots at least two men fell; but the march of those who
remained was not slackened.

Arrived at the foot of the bastion, there were still more than a dozen
of the enemy. A last discharge