swiftness upon the trail of the
animal. Six foxhounds burst out at once upon the little heath, with a
cry resembling the noise of a triumph.

"There are the dogs plain enough!" said Aramis, posted on the look-out,
behind a chink, between two rocks; "now, who are the huntsmen?"

"If it is the Seigneur de Locmaria's," replied the patron, "he will
leave the dogs to hunt the grotto, for he knows them, and will not enter
in himself, being quite sure that the fox will come out at the other
side; it is there he will go and wait for him."

"It is not the Seigneur de Locmaria who is hunting," replied Aramis,
turning pale, in spite of his efforts to maintain a good countenance.

"Who is it, then?" said Porthos.

"Look!"

Porthos applied his eye to the slit, and saw at the summit of a hillock
a dozen horsemen urging on their horses in the track of the dogs,
shouting "Taiaut! taiaut!"

"The guards!" said he.

"Yes, my friend, the king's guards."

"The king's guards! do you say, monseigneur!" cried the Bretons,
becoming pale in their turns.

"And Biscarrat at their head, mounted upon my gray horse," continued
Aramis.

The hounds at the same moment rushed into the grotto like an avalanche,
and the depths of the cavern were filled with their deafening cries.

"Ah! the devil!" said Aramis, resuming all his coolness at the sight of
this certain, inevitable danger. "I am perfectly satisfied we are lost,
but we have at least one chance left. If the guards who follow their
hounds happen to discover there is an issue to the grotto, there is no
more help for us, for on entering they must see both us and our boat.
The dogs must not go out of the cavern. The masters must not enter."

"That is clear," said Porthos.

"You understand," added Aramis, with the rapid precision of command;
"there are six dogs which will be forced to stop at the great stone
under which the fox has glided--but at the too narrow opening of which
they shall be themselves stopped and killed."

The Bretons sprang forward, knife in hand. In a few minutes there was a
lamentable concert of growls, and mortal howlings--and then, nothing.

"That's well!" said Aramis, coolly; "now for the masters!"

"What is to be done with them?" said Porthos.

"Wait their arrival, conceal ourselves, and kill them."

"Kill them!" replied Porthos.

"There are sixteen," said Aramis, "at least, up at present."

"And well armed," added Porthos, with a smile of consolation