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 welcomed them, but did not stop them; they jumped into the ditch, and prepared to scale the breach.
“Now, my friends,” said Athos, “finish them at a blow. To the wall; to the wall!”
And the four friends, seconded by Grimaud, pushed with the barrels of their muskets an enormous sheet of the wall, which bent as if pushed by the wind, and detaching itself from its base, fell with a horrible crash into the ditch. Then a fearful crash was heard; a cloud of dust mounted toward the sky—and all was over!
“Can we have destroyed them all, from the first to the last?” said Athos.
“My faith, it appears so!” said D’Artagnan.
“No,” cried Porthos; “there go three or four, limping away.”