"Our flag, man, our flag! We can't leave our flag in the enemy's hands, if it is nothing but a napkin." And Athos dashed again into the bastion, and bore away the flag unhurt, amid a volley of balls from the Rochellois.
He waved his flag, while turning his back on the troops of the town, and saluting those of the camp. From both sides arose great cries, of anger on the one hand and enthusiasm on the other, and the napkin, pierced with three bullet-holes, was in truth transformed into a flag. "Come down, come down!" they shouted from the camp.
Athos came down, and his friends, who had awaited him anxiously, received him with joy.
"Be quick, Athos," said D'Artagnan; "now that we have got everything but money, it would be stupid to get 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.
"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."