t killed."

But Athos would not hurry himself, and they had to keep pace with him.

By this time Grimaud and his basket were well beyond bullet range,
while in the distance the sounds of rapid firing might be heard.

"What are they doing?" asked Porthos; "what are they firing at?"

"At our dead men," replied Athos.

"But they don't fire back."

"Exactly so; therefore the enemy will come to the conclusion that
there is an ambuscade. They will hold a council, and send an envoy
with a flag of truce, and when they at last find out the joke, we
shall be out of reach. So it is no use getting apoplexy by racing."

"Oh, I understand," said Porthos, full of astonishment.

"That is a mercy!" replied Athos, shrugging his shoulders, as they
approached the camp, which was watching their progress in a ferment of
admiration.

This time a new fusillade was begun, and the balls whistled close to
the heads of the four victors and fell about their ears. The
Rochellois had entered the bastion.

"What bad shooting!" said D'Artagnan. "How many was it we killed?
Twelve?"

"Twelve or fifteen."

"And how many did we crush?"

"Eight or ten."

"And not a scratch to show for it."

"Ah, what is that on your hand, D'Artagnan? It looks to me like
blood."

"It's nothing," replied D'Artagnan.

"A spent ball?"

"Not even that."

"But what is it, then?" As we have said, the silent and resolute Athos
loved D'Artagnan like his own son, and showed every now and then all
the anxiety of a father.

"The skin is rubbed off, that is all," said D'Artagnan. "My fingers
were caught between two stones--the stone of the wall and the stone of
my ring."

"That is what comes of having diamonds," remarked Athos
disdainfully....

"Here we are at the camp, and they are coming to meet us and bring us
in triumphantly."

And he only spoke the truth, for the whole camp was in a turmoil. More
than two thousand people had gazed, as at a play, at the lucky bit of
braggadocio of the four friends,--braggadocio of which they were far
from suspecting the real motive. The cry of "Long live the
musketeers," resounded on all sides, and M. De Busigny was the first
to hold out his hand to Athos and to declare that he had lost his
wager. The dragoon and the Swiss had followed him, and all the others
had followed the dragoon and the Swiss. There was nothing but
congratulations, hand-shakings, embraces; and the tumult became so
great that the Cardinal though