his doubt, which passed from the
mind of Monk to his own, D'Artagnan reasoned in this manner:--"One of
two things is going to happen; either Monk has spoken correctly, and
there are no longer any but Lambertists in the country--that is to say,
enemies, who would receive me wonderfully well, since it is to me they
owe their victory; or nothing is changed, and Monk, transported with joy
at finding his camp still in the same place, will not prove too severe
in his settlement with me." Whilst thinking thus, the two travelers
advanced, and began to mingle with a little knot of sailors, who looked
on with sorrow at the burning house, but did not dare to say anything
on account of the threats of the soldiers. Monk addressed one of these
sailors:--"What is going on here?" asked he.

"Sir," replied the man, not recognizing Monk as an officer, under the
thick cloak which enveloped him, "that house was inhabited by a foreign
gentleman, and this foreigner became suspected by the soldiers. They
wanted to get into his house under pretense of taking him to the camp;
but he, without being frightened by their number, threatened death to
the first who should cross the threshold of his door; and as there was
one who did venture, the Frenchman stretched him on the earth with a
pistol-shot."

"Ah! he is a Frenchman, is he?" said D'Artagnan, rubbing his hands.
"Good!"

"How good?" replied the fisherman.

"No, I don't mean that.--What then--my tongue slipped."

"What then, sir?--why, the other men became as enraged as so many lions:
they fired more than a hundred shots at the house; but the Frenchman was
sheltered by the wall, and every time they tried to enter by the door
they met with a shot from his lackey, whose aim is deadly, d'ye see?
Every time they threatened the window, they met with a pistol-shot from
the master. Look and count--there are seven men down."

"Ah! my brave countryman," cried D'Artagnan, "wait a little, wait a
little. I will be with you; and we will settle with this rabble."

"One instant, sir," said Monk, "wait."

"Long?"

"No; only the time to ask a question." Then, turning towards the sailor,
"My friend," asked he, with an emotion which, in spite of all his
self-command, he could not conceal, "whose soldiers are these, pray tell
me?"

"Whose should they be but that madman, Monk's?"

"There has been no battle, then?"

"A battle, ah, yes! for what purpose? Lambert's army is melting away
like snow in Apr