they, on the contrary, sank into it; and what created the height of the walls was the depth of the ditches.  It did not take long to make D’Artagnan perceive the superiority of such a system, which gives no advantage to cannon.  Besides, as the fosses were lower than, or on a level with, the sea, these fosses could be instantly inundated by means of subterranean sluices.  Otherwise, the works were almost complete, and a group of workmen, receiving orders from a man who appeared to be conductor of the works, were occupied in placing the last stones.  A bridge of planks thrown over the fosses for the greater convenience of the maneuvers connected with the barrows, joined the interior to the exterior.  With an air of simple curiosity D’Artagnan asked if he might be permitted to cross the bridge, and he was told that no order prevented it.  Consequently he crossed the bridge, and advanced towards the group.

This group was superintended by the man whom D’Artagnan had already remarked, and who appeared to be the engineer-in-chief.  A plan was lying open before him upon a large stone forming a table, and at some paces from him a crane was in action.  This engineer, who by his evident importance first attracted the attention of D’Artagnan, wore a justaucorps, which, from its sumptuousness, was scarcely in harmony with the work he was employed in, that rather necessitated the costume of a master-mason than of a noble.  He was a man of immense stature and great square shoulders, and wore a hat covered with feathers.  He gesticulated in the most majestic manner, and appeared, for D’Artagnan only saw his back, to be scolding the workmen for their idleness and want of strength.

D’Artagnan continued to draw nearer.  At that moment the man with the feathers ceased to gesticulate, and, with his hands placed upon his knees, was following, half-bent, the effort of six workmen to raise a block of hewn stone to the top of a piece of timber destined to support that stone, so that the cord of the crane might be passed under it.  The six men, all on one side of the stone, united their efforts to raise it to eight or ten inches from the ground, sweating and blowing, whilst a seventh got ready for when there should be daylight enough beneath it to slide in the roller that was to support it.  But the stone had already twice escaped from their hands before gaining a sufficient height for the roller to be introduced.  There can be no doubt that every time the stone escaped them, they bounded quickly backwards, to keep their feet from being crushed by the refalling stone.  Every time, the stone, abandoned by them, sunk deeper into the damp earth, which rendered the operation more and more difficult.  A third effort was followed by no better success, but with progressive discouragement.  And yet, when the six men were bent towards the stone, the man with the feathers had himself, with a powerful voice, given the word of command, “Ferme!” which regulates maneuvers of strength.  Then he drew himself up.