“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?”