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And, bowing to the dumbfounded bystanders, the four young men took the road to the Saint-Gervais bastion, followed by Grimaud, who was carrying the basket, not knowing where he was going, but, in the passive obedience he had grown used to with Athos, not even dreaming of asking.

As long as they were within the camp enclosure, the four friends did not exchange a word. Besides, they were being followed by the curious, who, learning of the bet that had been made, wanted to know how they would make out.

But once they had crossed the line of circumvallation and found themselves in the open country, d’Artagnan, who had no idea what it was all about, thought it was time he asked for an explanation.

“And now, my dear Athos,” he said, “do me the kindness of letting me know where we’re going.”

“You can see very well,” said Athos, “we’re going to the bastion.”

“But what are we going to do there?”

“You know very well, we’re going to have lunch.”

“But why didn’t we have lunch at the Parpaillot?”

“Because we have very important things to tell you, and it was impossible to talk for five minutes in that inn, with all those importunate fellows coming, going, bowing, embracing. Here, at least,” Athos went on, pointing to the bastion, “they won’t come to disturb us.”

“It seems to me,” said d’Artagnan, with that prudence which combined so well and so naturally in him with an exceeding bravery, “it seems to me that we could have found some out-of-the-way place in the dunes, by the seashore.”

“Where the four of us would have been seen conferring together, so that in a quarter of an hour the cardinal would have been warned by his spies that we were holding a council.”

“Yes,” said Aramis, “Athos is right: Animadvertuntur in desertis.”*

“A desert wouldn’t have been bad,” said Porthos, “but it was a question of finding one.”

“There is no desert where a bird can’t fly over your head, or a fish leap out of the water, or a rabbit spring from its form, and I believe that bird, fish, and rabbit are all spies for the cardinal. So it’s better if we continue our undertaking, from which, anyhow, we can no longer retreat without shame. We’ve made a bet, a bet that could not be foreseen, and of which I defy anyone to guess the veritable cause: to win it, we are going to hold out for one hour in the bastion. Where we will or will not be attacked. If we’re not, we’ll have plenty of time to talk, and nobody will hear us, for I guarantee that the walls of this bastion do not have ears. If we are, we’ll talk over our affairs anyway, and moreover, in defending ourselves, we will cover ourselves with glory. You can see very well that it’s all profit.”

“Yes,” said d’Artagnan, “but we’ll undoubtedly catch a bullet.”

“Ah, my dear,” said Athos, “you know very well that the bullets most to be feared are not those of the enemy.”

“But it seems to me that, for such an expedition, we should at least have brought our muskets.”

“You’re a ninny, Porthos, my friend. Why load ourselves down with useless baggage?”

“In the face of the enemy, a good, high-caliber musket, a dozen cartridges, and a powder flask don’t strike me as useless.”

“Oh, well,” said Athos, “didn’t you hear what d’Artagnan said?”

“What did d’Artagnan say?” asked Porthos.

“D’Artagnan said that, in the attack last night, there were eight or ten French killed and as many Rochelois.”

“So?”

“They had no time to strip them, did they? Seeing that they had other more pressing things to do at the moment.”

“Well?”

“Well, we shall find their muskets, their powder flasks, and their cartridges, and instead of four musketoons and a dozen bullets, we’ll have fifteen guns and a hundred rounds of ammunition.”

“Oh, Athos,” said Aramis, “you are truly a great man!”

Porthos inclined his head in a sign of concurrence.

D’Artagnan alone seemed unconvinced.

Grimaud clearly shared the young man’s doubts; for, seeing that they kept on walking towards the bastion, something he had doubted up to then, he pulled his master by the coattail.

“Where are we going?” he asked