ruck by that
superstitious terror which every dark and subterraneous way naturally
impresses upon the mind of man, he stopped at the outside of the grotto,
and waited till his companions should have assembled round him.

"Well!" asked the young men, coming up, out of breath, and unable to
understand the meaning of this inaction.

"Well! I cannot hear the dogs; they and the fox must all be lost in this
infernal cavern."

"They were too close up," said one of the guards, "to have lost scent
all at once. Besides, we should hear them from one side or another. They
must, as Biscarrat says, be in this grotto."

"But then," said one of the young men, "why don't they give tongue?"

"It is strange!" muttered another.

"Well, but," said a fourth, "let us go into this grotto. Does it happen
to be forbidden we should enter it?"

"No," replied Biscarrat. "Only, as it looks as dark as a wolf's mouth,
we might break our necks in it."

"Witness the dogs," said a guard, "who seem to have broken theirs."

"What the devil can have become of them?" asked the young men in chorus.
And every master called his dog by his name, whistled to him in his
favorite mode, without a single one replying to either call or whistle.

"It is perhaps an enchanted grotto," said Biscarrat; "let us see." And,
jumping from his horse, he made a step into the grotto.

"Stop! stop! I will accompany you," said one of the guards, on seeing
Biscarrat disappear in the shades of the cavern's mouth.

"No," replied Biscarrat, "there must be something extraordinary in the
place--don't let us risk ourselves all at once. If in ten minutes you do
not hear of me, you can come in, but not all at once."

"Be it so," said the young man, who, besides, did not imagine that
Biscarrat ran much risk in the enterprise, "we will wait for you." And
without dismounting from their horses, they formed a circle round the
grotto.

Biscarrat entered then alone, and advanced through the darkness till
he came in contact with the muzzle of Porthos's musket. The resistance
which his chest met with astonished him; he naturally raised his hand
and laid hold of the icy barrel. At the same instant, Yves lifted a
knife against the young man, which was about to fall upon him with
all force of a Breton's arm, when the iron wrist of Porthos stopped it
half-way. Then, like low muttering thunder, his voice growled in the
darkness, "I will not have him killed!"

Biscarrat found himself betw