Chapter 42 - Page 2

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 Vallon, 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 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 those 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 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 since the bishop had 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 everything, my good Porthos, and say nothing.”

This reply did not satisfy Porthos at all. He turned away, and grumbled 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; “six leagues!”

“If you had seen me get astride of a plank, would you have remained on land, Porthos?”

“No, pardieu! No, Aramis. But