The little party had reached the open space of the quarry.
"Are your pistols and guns all loaded ?" he asked.
"Yes," answered a dozen voices.
"Remember the order for those who fall into the hands of the police.

We belong to the army of M.de Teyssonnet, and we are here to recruit men for the royalist cause.

If they talk to us of mail-coaches and diligences, we don't know what they mean." "Agreed." "In either case it will be death.

We know that well enough; but the death of a soldier is better than that of thieves--the volley of a platoon rather than the guillotine." "Yes, yes," cried a mocking voice, "we know what that is--Vive la fusillade!" "Forward, friends!" said Montbar, "and let us sell our lives for what they are worth; that is to say, as dearly as possible." "Forward!" they all cried.
Then, as rapidly as was possible in the profound darkness, the little troop resumed its march, still under the guidance of Montbar.

As they advanced, the leader noticed a smell of smoke which alarmed him.