They had slept a night at Mons, and they were within a short three leagues of French soil when they chanced to ride towards noon into the little hamlet of Boisvert.

Probably they would have gone straight through without drawing rein, but that, as they passed the Auberge de l'Aigle, La Boulaye espied upon the green fronting the wayside hostelry a company of a half-dozen soldiers playing at bowls with cannon-balls.
The sight brought Caron to a sudden halt, and he sat his horse observing them and wondering how it chanced that these men should find themselves so far from the army.

Three of them showed signs of having been recently wounded.

One carried his arm in a sling, another limped painfully and by the aid of a stick, whilst the head of the third was swathed in bandages.

But most remarkable were they by virtue of their clothes.