As Fouquet was alighting from his carriage, to enter the castle of Nantes, a man of mean appearance went up to him with marks of the greatest respect, and gave him a letter. D'Artagnan endeavored to prevent this man from speaking to Fouquet, and pushed him away, but the message had been given to the surintendant. Fouquet opened the letter and read it, and instantly a vague terror, which D'Artagnan did not fail to penetrate, was painted upon the countenance of the first minister. Fouquet put the paper into the portfolio which he had under his arm, and passed on toward the king's apartments. D'Artagnan, through the small windows made at every landing of the donjon stairs, saw, as he went up behind Fouquet, the man who had delivered the note, look around him on the place, and make signs to several persons, who disappeared into the adjacent streets, after having themselves repeated the signals made by the person we have named. Fouquet was made to wait for a moment upon the terrace of which we have spoken, a terrace which abutted on the little corridor, at the end of which the closet of the king was established. Here D'Artagnan passed onbefore the surintendant, whom, till that time, he had respectfully accompanied, and entered the royal cabinet.
"Well?" asked Louis XIV., who, on perceiving him, threw on to the table covered with papers a large green cloth.
"The order is executed, sire."
"And Fouquet?"
"Monsieur le Surintendant follows me," said D'Artagnan.
"In ten minutes let him be introduced," said the king, dismissing D'Artagnan again with a gesture. The latter retired; but had scarcely reached the corridor at the extremity of which Fouquet was waiting for him, when he was recalled by the king's bell.
"Did he not appear astonished?" asked the king.
"Who, sire?"
"Fouquet," repeated the king, without saying monsieur, a particularity which confirmed the captain of the musketeers in his suspicions.
"No, sire," replied he.
"That's well!" And a second time Louis dismissed D'Artagnan.
Fouquet had not quitted the terrace where he had been left by his guide. He reperused his note, which was thus conceived:
"Something is being contrived against you. Perhaps they will not dare to carry it out at the castle; it will be on your return home. The house is already surrounded by musketeers. Do not enter. A white horse is in waiting for you behind the esplanade!"
Fouquet recognized the writing and zeal of Gourville. Not being willing that, if any evil happened to himself, this paper should compromise a faithful friend, the surintendant was busy tearing it into a thousand morsels, spread about by the wind from the balustrade of the terrace. D'Artagnan found him watching the flight of the last scraps into space.
"Monsieur," said he, "the king waits for you."
Fouquet walked with a deliberate step into the little corridor, where MM. de Brienne and Rose were at work, while the Duc de Saint-Aignan, seated on a chair, likewise in the corridor, appeared to be waiting for orders, with feverish impatience, his sword between his legs. It appeared strange to Fouquet that MM. Brienne, Rose, and de Saint-Aignan, in general so attentive and obsequious, should scarcely take the least notice, as he, the superintendent, passed. But how could he expect to find it otherwise among courtiers, he whom the king no longer called anything butFouquet?He raised his head, determined to look every one and everything bravery in the face, and entered the king's apartment, where a little bell, which we already know, had announced him to his majesty.
The king, without rising, nodded to him, and with interest—"Well! how are you. Monsieur Fouquet?" said he.
"I am in a high fever," replied the superintendent; "but I am at the king's service."
"That is well; the States assemble to-morrow; have you a speech ready?"
Fouquet looked at the king with astonishment. "I have not, sire," replied he; "but I will improvise one. I am too well acquainted with affairs to feel any embarrassment. I have only one question to ask; will your majesty permit me?"
"Certainly; ask it."
"Why has your majesty not done his first minister the honor to give him notice of this in Paris!"
"You were ill; I was not willing to fatigue you."
"Never did a labor—never did an explanation fatigue me, sire; and, since the moment is come for me to demand an explanation of my king—"
"Oh, Monsieur Fouquet, an explanation upon what?"
"Upon your majesty's intentions with respect to myself."
The king blushed. "I have been calumniated," continued Fouquet, warmly, "and I feel called upon to provoke the justice of the king to make inquiries."
"You say all this to me very uselessly, Monsieur Fouquet; I know what I know."
"Your majesty can only know things as they have been told to you; and I, on my part, have said nothing to you, while others have spoken many, and many times—"
"What do you wish to say?" said the king, impatient to put an end to this embarrassing conversation.
"I will go straight to the fact, sire; and I accuse a man of having injured me in your majesty's opinion."
"Nobody has injured you, Monsieur Fouquet."
"That reply proves to me, sire, that I am right."
"Monsieur Fouquet, I do not like people to be accused."
"Not when one is accused?"
"We have already spoken too much about this affair."
"Your majesty will not allow me to justify myself."
"I repeat that I do not accuse you."
Fouquet, with a half-bow, made a step backward. "It is certain," thought he, "that he has made up his mind. He alone who cannot go back can show such obstinacy. Not to see the danger now would be to be blind indeed! not to shun it would be stupid." He resumed aloud: "Did your majesty send for me for any business?"
"No, Monsieur Fouquet, but for some advice I have to give you."
"I respectfully await it, sire."
"Rest yourself, Monsieur Fouquet, do not throw away your strength; the session of the States will be short, and when my secretaries shall have closed it. I do not wish business to be talked of in France for a fortnight."
"Has the king nothing to say to me on the subject of this assembly of the States?"
"No, Monsieur Fouquet."
"Not to me, the surintendant of the finances?"
"Rest yourself, I beg you; that is all I have to say to you."
Fouquet bit his lips and hung down his head. He was evidently busy with some uneasy thought. This uneasiness struck the king. "Are you angry at having to rest yourself, M. Fouquet?" said he.
"Yes, sire, I am not accustomed to take rest."
"But you are ill; you must take care of yourself."
"Your majesty spoke just now of a speech to be pronounced to-morrow."
His majesty made no reply; this unexpected stroke embarrassed him. Fouquet felt the weight of this hesitation. He thought he could read a danger in the eyes of the young prince, which his fear would precipitate.
"If I appear frightened, I am lost," thought he.
The king, on his part, was only uneasy at the alarm of Fouquet. "Has he a suspicion of anything?" murmured he.
"If his first word is severe," again thought Fouquet; "if he becomes angry, or feigns to be angry for the sake of a pretext, how shall I extricate myself? Let us smooth the declivity a little. Gourville was right."
"Sire," said he suddenly, "since the goodness of the king watches over my health to the point of dispensing with my labor, may I not be allowed to be absent from the council of to-morrow? I could pass the day in bed, and will entreat the king to grant me his physician, that we may endeavor to find a remedy against this cursed fever."
"So be it, Monsieur Fouquet, as you desire; you shall have a holiday to-morrow, you shall have the physician, and shall be restored to health."
"Thanks!" said Fouquet, bowing. Then, opening his game:
"Shall I not have the happiness of conducting your majesty to my residence of Belle-Isle?"
And he looked Louis full in the face, to judge of the effect of such a proposal. The king blushed again.
"Do you know," replied he, endeavoring to smile, "that you have just said—'My residence of Belle-Isle'?"
"Yes, sire."
"Well! do you not remember," continued the king in the same cheerful tone, "that you gave me Belle-Isle?"
"That is true again, sire. Only as you have not taken it, you will come with me and take possession of it."
"I mean to do so."
"That was, besides, your majesty's intention as well as mine; and I cannot express to your majesty how happy and proud I have been at seeing all the king's military household come from Paris for this taking possession."
The king stammered out that he did not bring the musketeers for that alone.
"Oh, I am convinced of that," said Fouquet, warmly; "your majesty knows very well that you have nothing to do but to come alone with a cane in your hand, to bring to the ground all the fortifications of Belle-Isle."
"Peste!" cried the king; "I do not wish those fine fortifications, which cost so much to erect, should fall at all. No, let them stand against the Dutch and the English. You would not guess what I want to see at Belle-Isle, Monsieur Fouquet; it is the pretty peasants and women of the lands on the sea-shore, who dance so well, and are so seducing with their scarlet petticoats! I have heard great boast of your pretty tenants, Monsieur le Surintendant; well, let me have a sight of them."
"Whenever your majesty pleases."
"Have you any means of transport? It should be to-morrow, if you like."
The surintendant felt this stroke, which was not adroit, and replied, "No, sire; I was ignorant of your majesty's wish; above all, I was ignorant of your haste to see Belle-Isle, and I am prepared with nothing."
"You have a boat of your own, nevertheless?'
"I have five; but they are all in the port, or at Paimbœuf; and to join them, or bring them hither, we should require at least twenty-four hours. Have I any occasion to send a courier? Must I do so?"
"Wait a little; put an end to the fever—wait till to-morrow."
"That is true; who knows but that by to-morrow we may not have a hundred other ideas?" replied Fouquet, now perfectly convinced, and very pale.
The king started, and stretched his hand out toward his little bell, but Fouquet prevented his ringing.
"Sire," said he, "I have an ague—I am trembling with cold. If I remain a moment longer, I shall most likely faint. I request your majesty's permission to go and conceal myself beneath the bedclothes."
"Indeed, you are all in a shiver; it is painful to behold! Come, M. Fouquet, begone! I will send to inquire after you."
"Your majesty overwhelms me with kindness. In an hour I shall be better."
"I will call some one to reconduct you," said the king.
"As you please, sire; I would gladly take the arm of any one."
"M. d'Artagnan!" cried the king, ringing his little bell.
"Oh! sire," interrupted Fouquet, laughing in such a manner as made the prince feel cold, "would you give me the captain of your musketeers to take me to my lodgings? A very equivocal kind of honor that, sire! A simple footman, I beg."
"And why, M. Fouquet? M. d'Artagnan conducts me often, and well!"
"Yes, but when he conducts you, sire, it is to obey you; while me—"
"Go on!"
"If I am obliged to return home supported by the leader of the musketeers, it would be everywhere said you had had me arrested."
"Arrested!" replied the king, who became paler than Fouquet himself—"arrested! oh!"
"And why would they not say so?" continued Fouquet, still laughing, "and I would lay a wager there would be people found wicked enough to laugh at it." This sally disconcerted the monarch. Fouquet was skillful enough, or fortunate enough, to make Louis XIV. recoil before the appearance of the fact he meditated. M. d'Artagnan, when he appeared, received an order to desire a musketeer to accompany the surintendant.
"Quite unnecessary," said the latter: "sword for sword; I prefer Gourville, who is waiting for me below. But that will not prevent me enjoying the society of M. d'Artagnan. I am glad he will see Belle-Isle, he who is so good a judge of fortifications."
D'Artagnan bowed, without at all comprehending what was going on. Fouquet bowed again and left the apartment, affecting all the slowness of a man who walks with difficulty. When once out of the castle, "I am saved!" said he. "Oh! yes, disloyal king! you shall see Belle-Isle, but it shall be when I am no longer there!"
He disappeared, leaving D'Artagnan with the king.
"Captain," said the king, "you will follow M. Fouquet at the distance of a hundred paces."
"Yes, sire."
"He is going to his lodgings again. You will go with him."
"Yes, sire."
"You will arrest him in my name, and will shut him up in a carriage."
"In a carriage. Well! sire?"
"In such a fashion that he may not, on the road, either converse with any one, or throw notes to people he may meet."
"That will be rather difficult, sire."
"Not at all."
"Pardon me, sire, I cannot stifle M. Fouquet, and if he asks for liberty to breathe, I cannot prevent him by shutting up glasses and blinds. He will throw out at the doors all the cries and notes possible."
"The case is provided for, M. d'Artagnan; a carriage with a trellis will obviate both the difficulties you point out."
"A carriage with an iron trellis!" cried D'Artagnan; "but a carriage with an iron trellis is not made in half an hour; and your majesty commands me to go immediately to M. Fouquet's lodgings."
"Therefore the carriage in question is already made."
"Ah! that is quite a different thing," said the captain; "if the carriage is ready made, very well, then, we have only to set it going."
"It is ready with the horses harnessed to it."
"Ah!"
"And the coachman, with the out-riders, waiting in the lower court of the castle."
D'Artagnan bowed. "There only remains for me to ask your majesty to what place I shall conduct M. Fouquet."
"To the castle of Angers at first."
"Very well, sire."
"Afterward we will see."
"Yes, sire."
"M. d'Artagnan, one last word; you have remarked that for making this capture of M. Fouquet I have not employed my guards, on which account M. de Gesvres will be furious."
"Your majesty does not employ your guards," said the captain, a little humiliated, "because you mistrust M. de Gesvres, that is all."
"That is to say, monsieur, that I have more confidence in you."
"I know that very well, sire! and it is of no use to make so much of it."
"It is only for the sake of arriving at this, monsieur, that if, from this moment, it should happen that by any chance, any chance whatever, M. Fouquet should escape—such chances have been, monsieur—"
"Oh! very often, sire; but for others, not for me."
"And why not with you?"
"Because I, sire, have for an instant wished to save M. Fouquet."
The king started. "Because," continued the captain, "I had then a right to do so, having guessed your majesty's plan, without your having spoken to me of it, and that I took an interest in M. Fouquet. Now, was I not at liberty to show my interest in this man?"
"In truth, monsieur, you do not reassure me with regard to your services."
"If I had saved him then, I was perfectly innocent; I will say more, I should have done well, for M. Fouquet is not a bad man. But he was not willing; his destiny prevailed; he let the hour of liberty slip by. So much the worse! Now I have orders, I will obey those orders, and M. Fouquet you may consider as a man arrested. He is at the castle of Angers, is M. Fouquet."
"Oh! you have not got him yet, captain."
"That concerns me; everyone to his trade, sire; only, once more, reflect! Doyou seriously give me orders to arrest M. Fouquet, sire?"
"Yes, a thousand times, yes!"
"Write it, then."
"Here is the letter."
D'Artagnan read it, bowed to the king, and left the room. From the height of the terrace he perceived Gourville, who went by with a joyous air toward the lodgings of M. Fouquet.
"That is rather surprising," said D'Artagnan, "Gourville running about the streets so gayly, when he is almost certain that M. Fouquet is in danger; when it is almost equally certain that it was Gourville who warned M. Fouquet just now by the note which was torn into a thousand pieces upon the terrace and given to the winds by Monsieur le Surintendant. Gourville is rubbing his hands, that is because he has done something clever. Whence comes M. Gourville? Gourville is coming from the Rue aux Herbes. Whither does the Rue aux Herbes lead?" And D'Artagnan followed along the tops of the houses of Nantes dominated by the castle, the line traced by the streets, as he would have done upon a topographical plan; only, instead of the dead, flat paper, the living chart rose in relief with the cries, the movements, and the shadows of the men and things. Beyond the inclosure of the city, the great verdant plains stretched out, bordering the Loire, and appeared to run toward the empurpled horizon, which was cut by the azure of the waters and the dark green of the marshes. Immediately outside the gates of Nantes two white roads were seen diverging like the separated fingers of a gigantic hand. D'Artagnan, who had taken in all the panorama at a glance by crossing the terrace, was led by the line of the Rue aux Herbes to the mouth of one of those roads which took its rise under the gates of Nantes. One step more, and he was about to descend the stairs, take his trellised carriage and go toward the lodgings of M. Fouquet. But chance decreed that at the moment of replunging into the staircase he was attracted by a moving point which was gaining ground upon that road.
"What is that?" said the musketeer to himself; "a horse galloping—a runaway horse, no doubt. What a pace he is going at!" The moving point became detached from the road, and entered into the fields. "A white horse," continued the captain, who had just seen the color thrown out luminously against the dark ground, "and he is mounted; it must be some boy whose horse is thirsty and has run away with him to the drinking-place, diagonally." These reflections, rapid as lightning, simultaneous with visual perception, D'Artagnan had already forgotten when he descended the first steps of the staircase. Some morsels of paper were spread over the stairs, and shone out white against the dirty stones. "Eh! eh!" said the captain to himself, "here are some of the fragments of the note torn by M. Fouquet. Poor man! he had given his secret to the wind; the wind will have no more to do with it, and brings it back to the king. Decidedly. Fouquet, you play with misfortune! the game is not a fair one—fortune is against you. The star of Louis XIV. obscures yours; the adder is stronger and more cunning than the squirrel." D'Artagnan picked up one of these morsels of paper as he descended. "Gourville's pretty little hand," cried he, while examining one of the fragments of the note; "I was not mistaken." And he read the word "horse." "Stop!" said he; and he examined another, upon which there was not a letter traced. Upon a third he read the word "white": "white horse," repeated he, like a child that is spelling. "Ah, mordioux!" cried the suspicious spirit, "a white horse!" And, like to that grain of powder which, burning, dilates into a centupled volume, D'Artagnan, enlarged by ideas and suspicions, rapidly reascended the stairs toward the terrace. The white horse was still galloping in the direction of the Loire, at the extremity of which, melted into the vapors of the water, a little sail appeared, balancing, like an atom.
"Oh, oh!" cried the musketeer, "there is but a man who flies who would go at that pace across plowed lands; there is but one Fouquet, a financier, to ride thus in open day upon a white horse; there is no one but the lord of Belle-Isle who would make his escape toward the sea, while there are such thick forests on the land; and there is but one D'Artagnan in the world to catch M. Fouquet, who has half an hour's start, and who will have gained his boat within an hour." This being said, the musketeer gave orders that the carriage with the iron trellis should be taken immediately to a thicket situated just outside the city. He selected his best horse, jumped upon his back, galloped along the Rue aux Herbes, taking, not the road Fouquet had taken, but the bank itself of the Loire, certain that he should gain ten minutes upon the total of the distance, and, at the intersection of the two lines, come up with the fugitive, who could have no suspicion of being pursued in that direction. In the rapidity of the pursuit, and with the impatience of the persecutor, animated himself in the chase as in war, D'Artagnan, so mild, so kind toward Fouquet, was surprised to find himself become ferocious and almost sanguinary. For a long time he galloped without catching sight of the white horse. His fury assumed the tints of rage; he doubted of himself—he suspected that Fouquet had buried himself in some subterranean road, or that he had changed the white horse for one of those famous black ones, as swift as the wind, which D'Artagnan, at Saint-Mandé, had so frequently admired, and envied their vigorous lightness.
At these moments, when the wind cut his eyes so as to make the water spring from them, when the saddle had become burning hot, when the galled and spurred horse reared with pain, and threw behind him a shower of dust and stones, D'Artagnan, raising himself in his stirrups, and seeing nothing on the waters—nothing beneath the trees, looked up into the air like a madman. He was losing his senses. In the paroxysms of his eagerness he dreamed of aërial ways—the discovery of the following century; he called to his mind Dædalus and his vast wings, which had saved him from the prisons of Crete. A hoarse sigh broke from his lips, as he repeated, devoured by the fear of ridicule, "I! I! duped by a Gourville! I! They will say I am growing old—they will say I have received a million to allow Fouquet to escape!" And he again dug his spurs into the sides of his horse: he had ridden astonishingly fast. Suddenly, at the extremity of some open pasture-ground, behind the hedges, he saw a white form which showed itself, disappeared, and at last remained distinctly visible upon a rising ground. D'Artagnan's heart leaped with joy. He wiped the streaming sweat from his brow, relaxed the tension of his knees—by which the horse breathed more freely—and gathering up his reins, moderated the speed of the vigorous animal, his active accomplice in this man hunt. He had then time to study the direction of the road, and his position with regard to Fouquet. The surintendant had completely winded his horse by crossing the soft grounds. He felt the necessity of gaining a more firm footing, and turned toward the road by the shortest secant line. D'Artagnan, on his part, had nothing to do but to ride straight beneath the sloping shore, which concealed him from the eyes of his enemy; so that he would cut him off on his road when he came up with him. Then the real race would begin—then the struggle would be in earnest.
D'Artagnan gave his horse good breathing-time. He observed that the surintendant had relaxed into a trot, which was to say, he likewise was indulging his horse. But both of them were too much pressed for time to allow them to continue long at that pace. The white horse sprang off like an arrow the moment his feet touched firm ground. D'Artagnan dropped his hand, and his black horse broke into a gallop. Both followed the same route; the quadruple echoes ofthe course were confounded. Fouquet had not yet perceived D'Artagnan. But on issuing from the slope, a single echo struck the air, it was that of the steps of D'Artagnan's horse, which rolled along like thunder. Fouquet turned round, and saw behind him, within a hundred paces, his enemy bent over the neck of his horse. There could be no doubt—the shining baldrick, the red cassock—it was a musketeer. Fouquet slackened his hand likewise, and the white horse placed twenty feet more between his adversary and himself.
"Oh, but," thought D'Artagnan, becoming very anxious, "that is not a common horse M. Fouquet is upon—let us see!" And he attentively examined, with his infallible eye, the shape and capabilities of the courser. Round full quarters—a thin long tail—large hocks—thin legs, dry as bars of steel—hoofs hard as marble. He spurred his own, but the distance between the two remained the same. D'Artagnan listened attentively; not a breath of the horse reached him, and yet he seemed to cut the air. The black horse, on the contrary, began to blow like a blacksmith's bellows.
"I must overtake him, if I kill my horse," thought the musketeer: and he began to saw the mouth of the poor animal, while he buried the rowels of his merciless spurs in his sides. The maddened horse gained twenty toises, and came up within pistol-shot of Fouquet.
"Courage!" said the musketeer to himself, "courage; the white horse will perhaps grow weaker, and if the horse does not fall, the master must fall at last." But horse and rider remained upright together, and gaining ground by degrees. D'Artagnan uttered a wild cry, which made Fouquet turn round, and added speed to the white horse.
"A famous horse! a mad rider!" growled the captain. "Hola! mordioux! Monsieur Fouquet! stop! in the king's name!" Fouquet made no reply.
"Do you hear me?" shouted D'Artagnan, whose horse had just stumbled.
"Pardieu!" replied Fouquet, laconically; and rode on faster.
D'Artagnan was nearly mad; the blood rushed boiling to his temples and his eyes. "In the king's name!" cried he again; "stop, or I will bring you down with a pistol-shot!"
"Do!" replied Fouquet, without relaxing his speed.
D'Artagnan seized a pistol and cocked it, hoping that the noise of the spring would stop his enemy. "You have pistols likewise," said he, "turn and defend yourself."
Fouquet did turn round at the noise, and looking D'Artagnan full in the face, opened with his right hand the part of his dress which concealed his body, but he did not even touch his holsters. There were not more than twenty paces between the two.
"Mordioux!" said D'Artagnan, "I will not assassinate you; if you will not fire upon me, surrender! what is a prison?"
"I would rather die!" replied Fouquet; "I shall suffer less."
D'Artagnan, drunk with despair, hurled his pistol to the ground. "I will take you alive!" said he; and by a prodigy of skill of which this incomparable horseman alone was capable he threw his horse forward to within ten paces of the white horse; already his hand was stretched out to seize his prey.
"Kill me! kill me!" cried Fouquet; "it is more humane!"
"No! alive—alive!" murmured the captain.
At this moment his horse made a false step for the second time, and Fouquet's again took the lead. It was an unheard of spectacle, this race between two horses which were only kept alive by the will of their riders. It might be said that D'Artagnan rode carrying his horse along between his knees. To the furious gallop had succeeded the fast trot, and that had sunk to what might be scarcely called a trot at all. And the chase appeared equally warm in the two fatiguedathletæ. D'Artagnan, quite in despair, seized his second pistol, and cocked it.
"At your horse! not at you!" cried he to Fouquet. And he fired. The animal was hit in the quarters—he made a furious bound, and plunged forward. At that moment D'Artagnan's horse fell dead.
"I am dishonored!" thought the musketeer; "I am a miserable wretch! for pity's sake, M. Fouquet, throw me one of your pistols that I may blow out my brains!" But Fouquet rode on.
"For mercy's sake! for mercy's sake!" cried D'Artagnan; "that which you will not do at this moment, I myself will do within an hour; but here, upon this road, I should die bravely; I should die esteemed; do me that service, M. Fouquet!"
M. Fouquet made no reply, but continued to trot on. D'Artagnan began to run after his enemy. Successively he threw off his hat, his coat, which embarrassed him, and then the sheath of his sword, which got between his legs as he was running. The sword in his hand even became too heavy, and he threw it after the sheath. The white horse began to rattle in his throat; D'Artagnan gained upon him. From a trot the exhausted animal sunk to a staggering walk—the foam from his mouth was mixed with blood. D'Artagnan made a desperate effort, sprang toward Fouquet, and seized him by the leg, saying in a broken breathless voice, "I arrest you in the king's name! blow my brains out, if you like—we have both done our duty."
Fouquet hurled far from him, into the river, the two pistols which D'Artagnan might have seized, and dismounting from his horse—"I am your prisoner, monsieur," said he; "will you take my arm, for I see you are ready to faint."
"Thanks!" murmured D'Artagnan, who, in fact, felt the earth moving from under his feet, and the sky melting away over his head; and he rolled upon the sand, without breath or strength. Fouquet hastened to the brink of the river, dipped some water in his hat, with which he bathed the temples of the musketeer, and introduced a few drops between his lips. D'Artagnan raised himself up, looking round with a wandering eye. He saw Fouquet on his knees, with his wet hat inhis hand, smiling upon him with ineffable sweetness. "You are not gone, then?" cried he. "Oh, monsieur! the true king in royalty, in heart, in soul, is not Louis of the Louvre, or Philippe of Sainte-Marguerite; it is you, the proscribed, the condemned!"
"I, who this day am ruined by a single error, M. d'Artagnan."
"What, in the name of Heaven! is that?"
"I should have had you for a friend! But how shall we return to Nantes? We are a great way from it."
"That is true," said D'Artagnan, gloomy and sad.
"The white horse will recover, perhaps; he is a good horse! Mount, Monsieur d'Artagnan; I will walk till you have rested a little."
"Poor beast! and wounded too!" said the musketeer.
"He will go, I tell you; I know him; but we can do better still, let us both get up, and ride slowly."
"We can try," said the captain. But they had scarcely charged the animal with this double load than he began to stagger, then, with a great effort, walked a few minutes, then staggered again, and sank down dead by the side of the black horse, which he had just managed to come up to.
"We will go on foot—destiny wills it so—the walk will be pleasant," said Fouquet, passing his arm through that of D'Artagnan.
"Mordioux!" cried the latter, with a fixed eye, a contracted brow, and a swelling heart—"A disgraceful day!"
They walked slowly the four leagues which separated them from the little wood behind which waited the carriage with the escort. When Fouquet perceived that sinister machine, he said to D'Artagnan, who cast down his eyes as ashamed of Louis XIV., "There is an idea which is not that of a brave man, Captain d'Artagnan; it is not yours. What are these gratings for?" said he.
"To prevent your throwing letters out."
"Ingenious!"
"But you can speak, if you cannot write," said D'Artagnan.
"Can I speak to you?"
"Why—certainly, if you wish to do so."
Fouquet reflected for a moment, then, looking the captain full in the face, "One single word," said he; "will you remember it?"
"I will not forget it."
"Will you speak it to whom I wish?"
"I will."
"Saint-Mandé," articulated Fouquet, in a low voice.
"Well! and for whom?"
"For Madame de Belliere or Pellisson."
"It shall be done."
The carriage passed through Nantes, and took the route of Angers.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon. The king, full of impatience, went to his cabinet on the terrace, and kept opening the door of the corridor to see what his secretaries were doing. M. Colbert, seated in the same place M. de Saint-Aignan had so long occupied in the morning, was chatting, in a low voice, with M. de Brienne. The king opened the door suddenly, and addressing them, "What do you say?" asked he.
"We were speaking of the first sitting of the States," said M. de Brienne, rising.
"Very well," replied the king, and returned to his room.
Five minutes after, the summons of the bell recalled Rose, whose hour it was.
"Have you finished your copies?" asked the king.
"Not yet, sire."
"See, then, if M. d'Artagnan is returned."
"Not yet, sire."
"It is very strange!" murmured the king. "Call M. Colbert."
Colbert entered: he had been expecting this moment all the morning.
"Monsieur Colbert," said the king, very sharply; "it must be ascertained what is become of M. d'Artagnan."
Colbert, in his calm voice, replied, "Where would your majesty desire him to be sought for?"
"Eh! monsieur! do you not know to what place I have sent him?" replied Louis, acrimoniously.
"Your majesty has not told me."
"Monsieur, there are things that are to be guessed; and you, above all others, do guess them."
"I might have been able to imagine, sire; but I do not presume to be positive."
Colbert had not finished these words when a much rougher voice than that of the king interrupted the interesting conversation thus begun between the monarch and his clerk.
"D'Artagnan!" cried the king, with evident joy.
D'Artagnan, pale and in evidently bad humor, cried to the king, as he entered, "Sire, is it your majesty who has given orders to my musketeers?"
"What orders?" said the king.
"About M. Fouquet's house?"
"None!" replied Louis.
"Ah! ah!" said D'Artagnan, biting his mustache; "I was not mistaken, then; it was monsieur here!" and he pointed to Colbert.
"What orders? Let me know," said the king.
"Orders to turn a house inside out, to beat M. Fouquet's servants, to force the drawers, to give over a peaceful house to pillage! Mordioux! these are savage orders!"
"Monsieur!" said Colbert, becoming pale.
"Monsieur," interrupted D'Artagnan, "the king alone, understand—the king alone has a right to command my musketeers; but, as to you, I forbid you to do it, and I tell you so before his majesty; gentlemen who wear swords are not fellows with pens behind their ears."
"D'Artagnan! D'Artagnan!" murmured the king.
"It is humiliating," continued the musketeer; "my soldiers are disgraced. I do not commandreítres, thank you, nor clerks of the intendance, mordioux!"
"Well! but what is all this about?" said the king, with authority.
"About this, sire; monsieur—monsieur, who could not guess your majesty's orders, and consequently could not know I was gone to arrest M. Fouquet; monsieur, who has caused the iron cage to be constructed for his patron of yesterday—has sent M. de Roncherat to the lodgings of M. Fouquet, and under pretense of taking away the surintendant's papers, they have taken away the furniture. My musketeers have been placed round the house all the morning; such were my orders. Why did any one presume to order them to enter? Why, by forcing them to assist in this pillage, have they been made accomplices in it? Mordioux! we serve the king, we do, but we do not serve M. Colbert!"
"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said the king, sternly, "take care; it is not in my presence that such explanations, and made in this tone, should take place."
"I have acted for the good of the king," said Colbert, in a faltering voice; "it is hard to be so treated by one of your majesty's officers, and that without vengeance, on account of the respect I owe the king."
"The respect you owe the king!" cried D'Artagnan, whose eyes flashed fire, "consists, in the first place, in making his authority respected, and making his person beloved. Every agent of a power without control represents that power, and when people curse the hand which strikes them, it is to the royal hand that God makes the reproach, do you hear? Must a soldier, hardened by forty years of wounds and blood, give you this lesson, monsieur? Must mercy be on my side, and ferocity on yours? You have caused the innocent to be arrested, bound, and imprisoned!"
"The accomplices, perhaps, of M. Fouquet," said Colbert.
"Who told you that M. Fouquet had accomplices, or even that he was guilty? The king alone knows that, his justice is not blind! When he shall say, 'Arrest and imprison' such and such people, then he shall be obeyed. Do not talk to me then any more of the respect you owe the king, and be careful of your words, that they may not chance to convey any menace; for the king will not allow those to be threatened who do him service by others who do him disservice; and if in case I should have, which God forbid! a master so ungrateful, I would make myself respected."
Thus saying, D'Artagnan took his station haughtily in the king's cabinet, his eye flashing, his hand on his sword, his lips trembling, affecting much more anger than he really felt. Colbert, humiliated and devoured with rage, bowed to the king as if to ask his permission to leave the room. The king, crossed in his pride and in his curiosity, knew not which part to take. D'Artagnan saw him hesitate. To remain longer would have been an error; it was necessary to obtain a triumph over Colbert, and the only means was to touch the king so near and so strongly to the quick, that his majesty would have no other means of extricating himself but choosing between the two antagonists. D'Artagnan then bowed as Colbert had done; but the king, who, in preference to everything else was anxious to have all the exact details of the arrest of the surintendant of the finances from him who had made him tremble for a moment—the king, perceiving that the ill-humor of D'Artagnan would put off for half an hour at least the details he was burning to be acquainted with—Louis, we say, forgot Colbert, who had nothing new to tell him, and recalled his captain of the musketeers.
"In the first place," said he, "let me see the result of your commission, monsieur; you may repose afterward."
D'Artagnan, who was just passing through the door, stopped at the voice of the king, retraced his steps, and Colbert was forced to leave the closet. His countenance assumed almost a purple hue, his black and threatening eyes shone with a dark fire beneath their thick brows; he stepped out, bowed before the king, half drew himself up in passing D'Artagnan,and went away with death in his heart. D'Artagnan, on being left alone with the king, softened immediately, and composing his countenance: "Sire," said he, "you are a young king. It is by the dawn that people judge whether the day will be fine or dull. How, sire, will the people whom the hand of God has placed under your law, argue of your reign, if, between them and you, you allow angry and violent ministers to act? But let us speak of me, sire, let us leave a discussion that may appear idle, and perhaps inconvenient to you. Let us speak of me. I have arrested M. Fouquet."
"You took plenty of time about it," said the king sharply.
D'Artagnan looked at the king. "I perceive that I have expressed myself badly. I announced to your majesty that I had arrested Monsieur Fouquet."
"You did; and what then?"
"Well! I ought to have told your majesty that M. Fouquet had arrested me; that would have been more just. I re-establish the truth, then; I have been arrested by M. Fouquet."
It was now the turn of Louis XIV. to be surprised. His majesty was astonished in his turn. D'Artagnan, with his quick glance, appreciated what was passing in the heart of his master. He did not allow him time to put any questions. He related, with that poetry, that picturesqueness, which perhaps he alone possessed at that period, the evasion of Fouquet, the pursuit, the furious race, and, lastly, the inimitable generosity of the surintendant, who might have fled ten times over, who might have killed the adversary attached to the pursuit of him, and who had preferred imprisonment, and perhaps worse, to the humiliation of him who wished to ravish his liberty from him. In proportion as the tale advanced, the king became agitated, devouring the narrator's words, and knocking his finger-nails against each other.
"It results from this, then, sire, in my eyes at least, that the man who conducts himself thus is a gallant man, and cannot be an enemy to the king. That is my opinion, and I repeat it to your majesty. I know what the king will say to me, and I bow to it; reasons of state—so be it! That in my eyes is very respectable. But I am a soldier, I have received my orders, my orders are executed—very unwillingly on my part, it is true, but they are executed. I say no more."
"Where is M. Fouquet at this moment?" asked Louis, after a short silence.
"M. Fouquet, sire," replied D'Artagnan, "is in the iron cage that M. Colbert had prepared for him, and is going, as fast as four vigorous horses can drag him, toward Angers."
"Why did you leave him on the road?"
"Because your majesty did not tell me to go to Angers. The proof, the best proof of what I advance, is that the king desired me to be sought for but this minute. And then I have another reason."
"What is that?"
"While I was with him, poor M. Fouquet would never attempt to escape."
"Well!" cried the king, with stupefaction.
"Your majesty ought to understand, and does understand, certainly, that my warmest wish is to know that M. Fouquet is at liberty. I have given him one of my brigadiers, the most stupid I could find among my musketeers, in order that the prisoner might have a chance of escaping."
"Are you mad, Monsieur d'Artagnan!" cried the king, crossing his arms on his breast. "Do people speak such enormities, even when they have the misfortune to think them?"
"Ah! sire, you cannot expect that I should be the enemy of M. Fouquet, after what he has just done for you and me. No, no; if you desire that he should remain under your locks and bolts, never give him in charge to me; however closely wired might be the cage, the bird would, in the end, fly away."
"I am surprised," said the king, in a stern tone, "you have not followed the fortunes of him whom M. Fouquet wished to place upon my throne. You had in him all you want—affection and gratitude. In my service, monsieur, you only find a master."
"If M. Fouquet had not gone to seek you in the Bastille, sire," replied D'Artagnan, with a deeply impressive manner, "one single man would have gone there, and that man would have been me—you know that right well, sire."
The king was brought to a pause. Before that speech of his captain of the musketeers, so frankly spoken and so true, the king had nothing to offer. On hearing D'Artagnan, Louis remembered the D'Artagnan of former times; him who, at the Palais Royal, held himself concealed behind the curtains of his bed, when the people of Paris, led on by Cardinal de Retz, came to assure themselves of the presence of the king, the D'Artagnan whom he saluted with his hand at the door of his carriage, when repairing to Notre-Dame on his return to Paris; the soldier who had quitted his service at Blois; the lieutenant whom he had recalled near his person when the death of Mazarin restored him his power; the man he had always found loyal, courageous, and devoted. Louis advanced toward the door and called Colbert. Colbert had not left the corridor where the secretaries were at work. Colbert appeared.
"Colbert, have you made a perquisition at the house of M. Fouquet?"
"Yes, sire."
"What has it produced?"
"M. de Roncherat, who was sent with your majesty's musketeers, has remitted me some papers," replied Colbert.
"I will look at them. Give me your hand."
"My hand, sire!"
"Yes, that I may place it in that of M. d'Artagnan. In fact, M. d'Artagnan," added he with a smile, turning toward the soldier, who, at the sight of the clerk, had resumed his haughty attitude, "you do not know this man; make his acquaintance." And he pointed to Colbert. "He has been but a moderate servant in subaltern positions, but he will be a great man if I raise him to the first rank."
"Sire!" stammered Colbert, confused with pleasure and fear.
"I have understood why," murmuredD'Artagnan in the king's ear; "he was jealous."
"Precisely, and his jealousy confined his wings."
"He will henceforth be a winged serpent," grumbled the musketeer, with a remains of hatred against his recent adversary.
But Colbert, approaching him, offered to his eyes a physiognomy so different from that which he had been accustomed to see him wear; he appeared so good, so mild, so easy; his eyes took the expression of an intelligence so noble, that D'Artagnan, a connoisseur in physiognomies, was moved, and almost changed in his convictions. Colbert pressed his hand.
"That which the king has just told you, monsieur, proves how well his majesty is acquainted with men. The inveterate opposition I have displayed, up to this day, against abuses and not against men, proves that I had it in view to prepare for my king a great reign, for my country a great blessing. I have many ideas, M. d'Artagnan; you will see them expand in the sun of public peace; and if I have not the certainty and good fortune to conquer the friendship of honest men, I am at least certain, monsieur, that I shall obtain their esteem. For their admiration, monsieur, I would give my life."
This change, this sudden elevation, this mute approbation of the king, gave the musketeer matter for much reflection. He bowed civilly to Colbert, who did not take his eyes off him. The king, when he saw they were reconciled, dismissed them. They left the room together. As soon as they were out of the cabinet, the new minister, stopping the captain, said:
"Is it possible, M. d'Artagnan, that with such an eye as yours, you have not, at the first glance, at the first inspection, discovered what sort of man I am?"
"Monsieur Colbert," replied the musketeer, "the ray of the sun which we have in our eyes prevents us from seeing the most ardent flames. The man in power radiates, you know; and since you are there, why should you continue to persecute him who has just fallen into disgrace, and fallen from such a height?"
"I! monsieur," said Colbert; "oh, monsieur! I would never persecute him. I wished to administer the finances, and to administer them alone, because I am ambitious, and, above all, because I have the most entire confidence in my own merit; because I know that all the gold of this country will fall beneath my eyes, and I love to look at the king's gold; because, if I live thirty years, in thirty years not adenierof it will remain in my hands; because, with that gold I will build granaries, edifices, cities, and dig ports; because I will create a marine, will equip navies which shall bear the name of France to the most distant peoples; because I will create libraries and acadamies; because I will make of France the first country in the world, and the richest. These are the motives for my animosity against M. Fouquet, who prevented my acting. And then, when I shall be great and strong, when France is great and strong, in my turn then I will cry, 'Mercy!'"
"Mercy, did you say: then ask his liberty of the king. The king only crushes him on your account."
Colbert again raised his head. "Monsieur," said he, "you know that it is not so, and that the king has his personal enmities against M. Fouquet; it is not for me to teach you that."
"But the king will be tired; he will forget."
"The king never forgets, M. d'Artagnan. Hark! the king calls. He is going to issue an order. I have not influenced him, have I? Listen."
The king, in fact, was calling his secretaries. "Monsieur d'Artagnan," said he.
"I am here, sire."
"Give twenty of your musketeers to M. de Saint-Aignan, to form a guard for M. Fouquet."
D'Artagnan and Colbert exchanged looks. "And from Angers," continued the king, "they will conduct the prisoner to the Bastille in Paris."
"You were right," said the captain to the minister.
"Saint-Aignan," continued the king, "you will have any one shot who shall attempt to speak privately with M. Fouquet during the journey."
"But myself, sire?" said the duke.
"You, monsieur, you will only speak to him in the presence of the musketeers." The duke bowed, and departed to execute his commission.
D'Artagnan was about to retire, likewise; but the king stopped him.
"Monsieur," said he, "you will go immediately, and take possession of the isle and fief of Belle-Isle-en-Mer."
"Yes, sire. Alone?"
"You will take a sufficient number of troops to prevent delay, in case the place should be contumacious."
A murmur of adulatory incredulity arose from the group of courtiers. "That is to be done," said D'Artagnan.
"I saw the place in my infancy," resumed the king, "and I do not wish to see it again. You have heard me? Go, monsieur, and do not return without the keys of the place."
Colbert went up to D'Artagnan. "A commission which, if you carry it out well," said he, "will be worth a maréchal's bâton to you."
"Why do you employ the words, 'if you carry it out well'?"
"Because it is difficult."
"Ah! in what respect?"
"You have friends in Belle-Isle, M. d'Artagnan; and it is not an easy thing for men like you to march over the bodies of their friends to obtain success."
D'Artagnan hung down his head, while Colbert returned to the king. A quarter of an hour after, the captain received the written order from the king to blow up the fortress of Belle-Isle, in case of resistance, with the power of life and death over all the inhabitants or refugees, and an injunction not to allow one to escape.
"Colbert was right," thought D'Artagnan; "my bâton of a maréchal of France will cost the lives of my two friends. Only they seem to forget that my friends are not more stupid than the birds, and that they will not wait for the hand of the fowler to extend their wings. I will show them that hand so plainly, that they will have quite time enough to see it. Poor Porthos! Poor Aramis! No; my fortune shall not cost your wings a feather."
Having thus determined, D'Artagnan assembled the royal army, embarked it at Paimbœuf, and set sail without losing a moment.
At the extremity of the mole, which the furious sea beats at evening tide, two men, holding each other by the arm, were conversing in an animated and expansive tone, without the possibility of any other human being hearing their words, borne away, as they were, one by one, by the gusts of wind, with the white foam swept from the crests of the waves. The sun had just gone down in the vast sheet of the reddened ocean, like a gigantic crucible. From time to time, one of these men, turning toward the east, cast an anxious, inquiring look over the sea. The other, interrogating the features of his companion, seemed to seek for information in his looks. Then, both silent, both busied with dismal thoughts, they resumed their walk. Every one has already perceived that those two men were our proscribed heroes, Porthos and Aramis, who had taken refuge in Belle-Isle, since the ruin of their hopes, since the discomfiture of the vast plan of M. d'Herblay.
"It is of no use your saying anything to the contrary, my dear Aramis," repeated Porthos, inhaling vigorously the saline air with which he filled his powerful chest. "It is of no use, Aramis. The disappearance of all the fishing-boats that went out two days ago is not an ordinary circumstance. There has been no storm at sea; the weather has been constantly calm, not even the slightest gale; and even if we had had a tempest, all our boats would not have foundered. I repeat, it is strange. This complete disappearance astonishes me, I tell you."
"True," murmured Aramis. "You are right, friend Porthos; it is true, there is something strange in it."
"And further," added Porthos, whose ideas the assent of the bishop of Vannes seemed to enlarge; "and further, have you remarked that if the boats have perished, not a single plank has been washed ashore?"
"I have remarked that as well as you."
"Have you remarked, besides, that the two only boats we had left in the whole island, and which I sent in search of the others—"
Aramis here interrupted his companion by a cry, and by so sudden a movement, that Porthos stopped as if he were stupefied. "What do you say, Porthos! What!—You have sent the two boats—"
"In search of the others! Yes; to be sure I have," replied Porthos, quite simply.
"Unhappy man! What have you done? Then we are, indeed, lost," cried the bishop.
"Lost!—what did you say?" exclaimed the terrified Porthos. "How lost, Aramis? How are we lost?"
Aramis bit his lips. "Nothing! nothing! Your pardon, I meant to say—"
"What?"
"That if we were inclined—if we took a fancy to make an excursion by sea, we could not."
"Very good! and why should that vex you? A fine pleasure, ma foi! For my part, I don't regret it at all. What I regret is certainly not the more or less amusement we can find at Belle-Isle;—what I regret, Aramis, is Pierrefonds; is Bracieux; is le Valon; is my beautiful France! Here we are not in France, my dear friend; we are—I know not where. Oh! I tell you, in the full sincerity of my soul, and your affection will excuse my frankness, but I declare to you I am not happy at Belle-Isle. No; in good truth, I am not happy!"
Aramis breathed a long but stifled sigh. "Dear friend," replied he, "that is why it is so sad a thing you have sent the two boats we had left in search of the boats which disappeared two days ago. If youhad not sent them away, we would have departed."
"'Departed!' And the orders, Aramis?"
"What orders?"
"Parbleu! Why the orders you have been constantly, and on all occasions, repeating to me—that we were to hold Belle-Isle against the usurper. You know very well!"
"That is true!" murmured Aramis again.
"You see, then, plainly, my friend, that we could not depart; and that the sending away of the boats in search of the others is not prejudicial to us in any way."
Aramis was silent; and his vague glance, luminous as that of a gull, hovered for a long time over the sea, interrogating space, and seeking to pierce the very horizon.
"With all that, Aramis," continued Porthos, who adhered to his idea, and that the more closely from the bishop having found it correct—"with all that, you give me no explanation about what can have happened to these unfortunate boats. I am assailed by cries and complaints whichever way I go. The children cry at seeing the desolation of the women, as if I could restore the absent husbands and fathers. What do you suppose, my friend, and what ought I to answer them?"
"Suppose, then, my good Porthos, and say nothing."
This reply did not satisfy Porthos at all. He turned away, grumbling some words in a very ill humor. Aramis stopped the valiant soldier. "Do you remember," said he, in a melancholy tone, pressing the two hands of the giant between his own with an affectionate cordiality, "do you remember, my friend, that in the glorious days of our youth—do you remember, Porthos, when we were all strong and valiant—we, and the other two—if we had then had an inclination to return to France, do you think this sheet of salt water would have stopped us?"
"Oh!" said Porthos; "but six leagues!"
"If you had seen me get astride of a plank, would you have remained on land, Porthos?"
"No, pardieu! No! Aramis. But, nowadays, what sort of a plank should we want, my friend! I, in particular." And the Seigneur de Bracieux cast a proud glance over his colossal rotundity, with a loud laugh. "And do you mean seriously to say you are not tired of Belle-Isle also a little, and that you would not prefer the comforts of your dwelling—of your espiscopal palace, at Vannes? Come, confess!"
"No," replied Aramis, without daring to look at Porthos.
"Let us stay where we are, then," said his friend, with a sigh; which, in spite of the efforts he made to restrain it, escaped with a loud report from his breast. "Let us remain!—let us remain! And yet," added he, "and yet, if we seriously wished, but that decidedly—if we had a fixed idea, one firmly taken, to return to France, and there were no boats—"
"Have you remarked anything, my friend?—that is, since the disappearance of our barks, during the two days' absence of the fishermen, not a single small boat has landed on the shores of the isle?"
"Yes, certainly! you are right. I have remarked it also, and the observation was the more naturally made, for before the last two fatal days, we saw barks and shallops arrive by dozens."
"I must inquire," said Aramis, suddenly, and with great agitation. "And then, if I had a raft constructed—"
"But there are some canoes, my friend; shall I go on board one?"
"A canoe!—a canoe! Can you think of such a thing, Porthos? A canoe to be upset in. No, no," said the bishop of Vannes; "it is not our trade to ride upon the waves. We will wait, we will wait."
And Aramis continued walking about with increased agitation. Porthos, who grew tired of following all the feverish movements of his friend—Porthos, who, in his calmness and belief, understood nothing of the sort of exasperation which was betrayed by his continual convulsive starts—Porthos stopped him. "Let us sit down upon this rock," said he. "Place yourself there, close to me, Aramis, and I conjure you, for the last time, to explain to me in a manner I can comprehend—explain to me what we are doing here."
"Porthos," said Aramis, much embarrassed.
"I know that the false king wished to dethrone the true king. That is a fact, that I understand. Well—"
"Yes," said Aramis.
"I know that the false king formed the project of selling Belle-Isle to the English. I understand that too."
"Yes."
"I know that we engineers and captains came and threw ourselves into Belle-Isle to take the direction of the works, and the command of the ten companies levied and paid by M. Fouquet, or rather the ten companies of his son-in-law. All that is plain."
Aramis arose in a state of great impatience. He might be said to be a lion importuned by a gnat. Porthos held him by the arm. "But what I cannot understand, what, in spite of all the efforts of my mind, and all my reflections, I cannot comprehend, and never shall comprehend, is, that instead of sending us troops, instead of sending us re-enforcements of men, munitions, and provisions, they leave us without boats, they leave Belle-Isle without arrivals, without help; it is that instead of establishing with us a correspondence, whether by signals, or written or verbal communications, all relations with us are intercepted. Tell me, Aramis, answer me, or rather, before answering me, will you allow me to tell you what I have thought? Will you hear what my idea is, what imagination I have conceived?"
The bishop raised his head. "Well! Aramis," continued Porthos, "I have thought, I have had an idea, I have imagined that an event has taken place in France. I dreamed of M. Fouquet all the night; I dreamed of dead fish, broken eggs, chambers badly furnished, meanly kept. Bad dreams, my dear D'Herblay; very unlucky, such dreams!"
"Porthos, what is that yonder?" interrupted Aramis, rising suddenly, andpointing out to his friend a black spot upon the empurpled line of the water.
"A bark!" said Porthos; "yes, it is a bark! Ah! we shall have some news at last."
"There are two!" cried the bishop, on discovering another mast; "two! three! four!"
"Five!" said Porthos, in his turn. "Six! seven! Ah! mon Dieu! mon Dieu! it is a whole fleet!"
"Our boats returning, probably," said Aramis, very uneasily, in spite of the assurance he affected.
"They are very large for fishing-boats," observed Porthos, "and do you not remark, my friend, they come from the Loire?"
"They come from the Loire—yes—"
"And look! everybody here sees them as well as ourselves: look, the women and children are beginning to get upon the jetty."
An old fisherman passed. "Are those our barks, yonder?" asked Aramis.
The old man looked steadily into the horizon.
"No, monseigneur," he replied, "they are lighter boats in the king's service."
"Boats in the royal service?" replied Aramis, starting. "How do you know that?" said he.
"By the flag."
"But," said Porthos, "the boat is scarcely visible; how the devil, my friend, can you distinguish the flag?"
"I see there is one," replied the old man; "our boats, or trade lighters, do not carry any. That sort of craft is generally used for the transport of troops."
"Ah!" said Aramis.
"Vivat!" cried Porthos, "they are sending us re-enforcements, don't you think they are, Aramis?"
"Probably."
"Unless it is the English coming."
"By the Loire? That would have an ill look. Porthos: for they must have come through Paris!"
"You are right: they are re-enforcements, decidedly, or provisions."
Aramis leaned his head upon his hands and made no reply. Then, all at once—"Porthos," said he, "have the alarm sounded."
"The alarm! do you think of such a thing?"
"Yes; and let the cannoniers mount to their batteries, let the artillerymen be at their pieces, and be particularly watchful of the coast batteries." Porthos opened his eyes to their widest extent. He looked attentively at his friend, to convince himself he was in his proper senses.
"I will do it, my dear Porthos," continued Aramis, in his most bland tone; "I will go and have the orders executed myself, if you do not go, my friend."
"Well! I will go instantly!" said Porthos, who went to execute the orders, casting all the while looks behind him, to see if the bishop of Vannes were not deceived; and if, on returning to more rational ideas, he would not recall him. The alarm was sounded, the trumpets brayed and drums rolled: the great bell of the belfry was put in motion. The dikes and moles were quickly filled with the curious and soldiers; the matches sparkled in the hands of the artillerymen, placed behind the large cannon bedded in their stone carriages. When every man was at his post, when all the preparations for the defense were made; "Permit, me, Aramis, to try to comprehend," whispered Porthos, timidly, in Aramis' ear.
"My dear friend, you will comprehend but too soon," murmured M. d'Herblay, in reply to this question of his lieutenant.
"The fleet which is coming yonder, with sails unfurled, straight toward the port of Belle-Isle, is a royal fleet, is it not?"
"But as there are two kings in France, Porthos, to which of these two kings does this fleet belong?"
"Oh! you open my eyes," replied the giant, stunned by this argument.
And Porthos, for whom the reply of his friend had just opened the eyes, or rather thickened the bandage which covered his sight, went with his best speed to the batteries to overlook his people, and exhort every one to do his duty. In the meantime, Aramis, with his eyes fixed on the horizon, saw the ships continue to draw nearer. The people and the soldiers, mounted upon all the summits or irregularities of the rocks, could distinguish the masts, then the lower sails, and at last the hulls of the lighters, bearing at the masthead the royal flag of France. It was quite night when one of these vessels, which had created such a sensation among the inhabitants of Belle-Isle, was moored within cannon-shot of the place. It was soon seen, notwithstanding the darkness, that a sort of agitation reigned on board this vessel, from the side of which a skiff was lowered, of which the three rowers, bending to their oars, took the direction of the port, and in a few instants struck land at the foot of the fort. The commander of this yawl jumped on shore. He had a letter in his hand, which he waved in the air, and seemed to wish to communicate with somebody. This man was soon recognized, by several soldiers, as one of the pilots of the island. He was the patron of one of the two barks kept back by Aramis, and which Porthos, in his anxiety with regard to the fate of the fishermen who had disappeared for two days, had sent in search of the missing boats. He asked to be conducted to M. d'Herblay. Two soldiers, at a signal from the sergeant, placed him between them, and escorted him. Aramis was upon the quay. The envoy presented himself before the bishop of Vannes. The darkness was almost complete, notwithstanding the flambeaux borne at a small distance by the soldiers who were following Aramis in his rounds.