"Oh, I understand," said Porthos, full of astonishment.
"That is a mercy!" replied Athos, shrugging his shoulders, as they approached the camp, which was watching their progress in a ferment of admiration.
This time a new fusillade was begun, and the balls whistled close to the heads of the four victors and fell about their ears. The Rochellois had entered the bastion.
"What bad shooting!" said D'Artagnan. "How many was it we killed? Twelve?"
"Twelve or fifteen."
"And how many did we crush?"
"Eight or ten."
"And not a scratch to show for it."
"Ah, what is that on your hand, D'Artagnan? It looks to me like blood."
"It's nothing," replied D'Artagnan.