"What is the matter, Grimaud? As the circumstances are grave, I will allow you to speak, but be short, I beg. What is it?"
"A troop."
"How many?"
"Twenty?"
"What are they?"
"Sixteen pioneers, four soldiers."
"How far off?"
"Five hundred paces."
"Then we have just time to finish this fowl and drink your health, D'Artagnan."
A few minutes later the troop hove in sight, marching along a narrow trench that connected the bastion and the town.