Chapter XLII. Belle-Ile-en-Mer.

At the extremity of the mole, against which the furious sea beats at the

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 crimsoned

ocean, like a gigantic crucible. From time to time, one of these men,

turning towards 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, busied with dismal

thoughts, they resumed their walk. Every one has already perceived that

these 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 colossal schemes of M. d’Herblay.

“If is of no use your saying anything to the contrary, my dear Aramis,”

repeated Porthos, inhaling vigorously the salt breeze with which he

charged his massive 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 lightest 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, do you not observe that if the

boats have perished, not a single plank has washed ashore?”

“I have remarked it as well as yourself.”

“And do you not think it strange 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,

calmly.

“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 precious 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; Bracieux; le Vallon; beautiful France! Here, we

are not in France, my dear friend; we are--I know not where. Oh! I

tell you, in full sincerity of 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 you had

not sent them away, we would have departed.”

“‘Departed!’ And the orders, Aramis?”

“What orders?”

“_Parbleu!_ Why, the orders you have been constantly, in and out of

season, 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 cannot prove

prejudicial to us in the very least.”

Aramis was silent; and his vague glances, luminous as that of an

albatross, hovered for a long time over the sea, interrogating space,

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 apparently endorsed

it,--“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 to see the desolation of

the women, as if I could restore the absent husbands and fathers. What

do you suppose, my friend, and how ought I to answer them?”

“Think all you like, my good Porthos, and say nothing.”

This reply did not satisfy Porthos at all. He turned away grumbling

something in ill-humor. Aramis stopped the valiant musketeer. “Do you

remember,” said he, in a melancholy tone, kneading the two hands of the

giant between his own with affectionate cordiality, “do you remember,

my friend, that in the glorious days of 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 profound glance over his colossal rotundity with a loud laugh. “And do

you mean seriously to say you are not tired of Belle-Isle a little,

and that you would not prefer the comforts of your dwelling--of your

episcopal 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 his echoing

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 not boats--”

“Have you remarked another thing, my friend--that is, since the

disappearance of our barks, during the last two days’ absence of

fishermen, not a single small boat has landed on the shores of the

isle?”

“Yes, certainly! you are right. I, too, have remarked it, and the

observation was the more naturally made, for, before the last two fatal

days, barks and shallops were as plentiful as shrimps.”

“I must inquire,” said Aramis, suddenly, and with great agitation. “And

then, if we had a raft constructed--”

“But there are some canoes, my friend; shall I 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 faith and calmness understood nothing of

the sort of exasperation which was betrayed by his companion’s 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 direction of the works, and the command of ten

companies levied and paid by M. Fouquet, or rather the ten companies of

his son-in-law. All that is plain.”

Aramis rose 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 reinforcements

of men, munitions, 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 the shore 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,

the plan I have conceived?”

The bishop raised his head. “Well! Aramis,” continued Porthos, “I have

dreamed, I have imagined that an event has taken place in France. I

dreamt of M. Fouquet all the night, of lifeless fish, of broken eggs,

of chambers badly furnished, meanly kept. Villainous dreams, my dear

D’Herblay; very unlucky, such dreams!”

“Porthos, what is that yonder?” interrupted Aramis, rising suddenly, and

pointing 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 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, that they come from the Loire?”

“They come from the Loire--yes--”

“And look! everybody here sees them as well as ourselves; look, women

and children are beginning to crowd the jetty.”

An old fisherman passed. “Are those our barks, yonder?” asked Aramis.

The old man looked steadily into the eye of the horizon.

“No, monseigneur,” replied he, “they are lighter boars, 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, trade lighters,

do not carry any. That sort of craft is generally used for transport of

troops.”

“Ah!” groaned Aramis.

“_Vivat!_” cried Porthos, “they are sending us reinforcements, don’t you

think they are, Aramis?”

“Probably.”

“Unless it is the English coming.”

“By the Loire? That would have an evil look, Porthos; for they must have

come through Paris!”

“You are right; they are reinforcements, 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 imagine such a thing?”

“Yes, and let the cannoniers mount their batteries, 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 blandest

tone; “I will go and have these orders executed myself, if you do not

go, my friend.”

“Well! I will--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 recovering more rational ideas, he would

not recall him. The alarm was sounded, trumpets brayed, drums rolled;

the great bronze bell swung in horror from its lofty belfry. The dikes

and moles were quickly filled with the curious and soldiers; 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 defense were made: “Permit me, Aramis, to

try to comprehend,” whispered Porthos, timidly, in Aramis’s 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 towards

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 the insinuation.

And Porthos, whose eyes this reply of his friend’s had at last opened,

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 eye fixed on the

horizon, saw the ships continually drawing nearer. The people and the

soldiers, perched on the summits 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 night when

one of these vessels, which had created such a sensation among the

inhabitants of Belle-Isle, dropped anchor within cannon shot of the

place. It was soon seen, notwithstanding the darkness, that some sort

of agitation reigned on board the 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 jumped ashore. 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 captain of one of the two barks

retained by Aramis, but which Porthos, in his anxiety with regard to

the fate of the fishermen who had disappeared, had sent in search of the

missing boats. He asked to be conducted to M. d’Herblay. Two soldiers,

at a signal from a sergeant, marched him between them, and escorted him.

Aramis was upon the quay. The envoy presented himself before the

bishop of Vannes. The darkness was almost absolute, notwithstanding the

flambeaux borne at a small distance by the soldiers who were following

Aramis in his rounds.

“Well, Jonathan, from whom do you come?”

“Monseigneur, from those who captured me.”

“Who captured you?”

“You know, monseigneur, we set out in search of our comrades?”

“Yes; and afterwards?”

“Well! monseigneur, within a short league we were captured by a _chasse

maree_ belonging to the king.”

“Ah!” said Aramis.

“Of which king?” cried Porthos.

Jonathan started.

“Speak!” continued the bishop.

“We were captured, monseigneur, and joined to those who had been taken

yesterday morning.”

“What was the cause of the mania for capturing you all?” said Porthos.

“Monsieur, to prevent us from telling you,” replied Jonathan.

Porthos was again at a loss to comprehend. “And they have released you

to-day?” asked he.

“That I might tell you they have captured us, monsieur.”

“Trouble upon trouble,” thought honest Porthos.

During this time Aramis was reflecting.

“Humph!” said he, “then I suppose it is a royal fleet blockading the

coasts?”

“Yes, monseigneur.”

“Who commands it?”

“The captain of the king’s musketeers.”

“D’Artagnan?”

“D’Artagnan!” exclaimed Porthos.

“I believe that is the name.”

“And did he give you this letter?”

“Yes, monseigneur.”

“Bring the torches nearer.”

“It is his writing,” said Porthos.

Aramis eagerly read the following lines:

“Order of the king to take Belle-Isle; or to put the garrison to the

sword, if they resist; order to make prisoners of all the men of the

garrison; signed, D’ARTAGNAN, who, the day before yesterday, arrested M.

Fouquet, for the purpose of his being sent to the Bastile.”

Aramis turned pale, and crushed the paper in his hands.

“What is it?” asked Porthos.

“Nothing, my friend, nothing.”

“Tell me, Jonathan?”

“Monseigneur?”

“Did you speak to M. d’Artagnan?”

“Yes, monseigneur.”

“What did he say to you?”

“That for ampler information, he would speak with monseigneur.”

“Where?”

“On board his own vessel.”

“On board his vessel!” and Porthos repeated, “On board his vessel!”

“M. le mousquetaire,” continued Jonathan, “told me to take you both on

board my canoe, and bring you to him.”

“Let us go at once,” exclaimed Porthos. “Dear D’Artagnan!”

But Aramis stopped him. “Are you mad?” cried he. “Who knows that it is

not a snare?”

“Of the other king’s?” said Porthos, mysteriously.

“A snare, in fact! That’s what it is, my friend.”

“Very possibly; what is to be done, then? If D’Artagnan sends for us--”

“Who assures you that D’Artagnan sends for us?”

“Well, but--but his writing--”

“Writing is easily counterfeited. This looks counterfeited--unsteady--”

“You are always right; but, in the meantime, we know nothing.”

Aramis was silent.

“It is true,” said the good Porthos, “we do not want to know anything.”

“What shall I do?” asked Jonathan.

“You will return on board this captain’s vessel.”

“Yes, monseigneur.”

“And will tell him that we beg he will himself come into the island.”

“Ah! I comprehend!” said Porthos.

“Yes, monseigneur,” replied Jonathan; “but if the captain should refuse

to come to Belle-Isle?”

“If he refuses, as we have cannon, we will make use of them.”

“What! against D’Artagnan?”

“If it is D’Artagnan, Porthos, he will come. Go, Jonathan, go!”

“_Ma foi!_ I no longer comprehend anything,” murmured Porthos.

“I will make you comprehend it all, my dear friend; the time for it has

come; sit down upon this gun-carriage, open your ears, and listen well

to me.”

“Oh! _pardieu!_ I will listen, no fear of that.”

“May I depart, monseigneur?” cried Jonathan.

“Yes, begone, and bring back an answer. Allow the canoe to pass, you men

there!” And the canoe pushed off to regain the fleet.

Aramis took Porthos by the hand, and commenced his explanations.