“There are sixteen,” said Aramis, “at least, at present.”
“And well armed,” added Porthos, with a smile of consolation.
“It will last about ten minutes,” said Aramis. “To work!”
And with a resolute air he took up a musket, and placed a hunting-knife between his teeth.
“Yves, Goenne, and his son,” continued Aramis, “will pass the muskets to us. You, Porthos, will fire when they are close. We shall have brought down, at the lowest computation, eight, before the others are aware of anything—that is certain; then all, there are five of us, will dispatch the other eight, knife in hand.”
“And poor Biscarrat?” said Porthos.
Aramis reflected a moment—“Biscarrat first,” replied he, coolly. “He knows us.”
Chapter XLVIII. The Grotto.
In spite of the sort of divination which was the remarkable side of the character of Aramis, the event, subject to the risks of things over which uncertainty presides, did not fall out exactly as the bishop of Vannes had foreseen. Biscarrat, better mounted than his companions, arrived first at the opening of the grotto, and comprehended that fox and hounds were one and all engulfed in it. Only, struck 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.