Chapter 46

Chapter XLVI
The Son of Biscarrat
The Bretons of the isle were very proud of this victory; Aramis did not encourage them in the feeling. “What will happen,” said he to Porthos, when everybody had gone home, “will be that the anger of the King will be roused by the account of the resistance; and that these brave people will be decimated or shot when the island is taken, as it must be.”

“From which it results, then,” said Porthos, “that what we have done is of no use.”

“For the moment it may be of some,” replied the bishop, “for we have a prisoner from whom we shall learn what our enemies are preparing to do.”

“Yes, let us interrogate the prisoner,” said Porthos; “and the means of making him speak are very simple. We are going to supper; we will invite him to join us; when he drinks he will talk.”

This was done. The officer was at first rather uneasy, but became reassured on seeing what sort of men he had to deal with. He gave, without having any fear of compromising himself, all the details imaginable of the resignation and departure of d’Artagnan. He explained how after that departure the new leader of the expedition had ordered a surprise upon Belle-Isle. There his explanations stopped. Aramis and Porthos exchanged a glance which evinced their despair. No more dependence to be placed upon the brave imagination of d’Artagnan; consequently, no more resources in the event of defeat. Aramis, continuing his interrogations, asked the prisoner what the leaders of the expedition contemplated doing with the leaders of Belle-Isle.

“The orders are,” replied he, “to kill during the combat, and hang afterwards.”

Porthos and Aramis looked at each other again, and the color mounted to their faces.

“I am too light for the gallows,” replied Aramis; “people like me are not hung.”

“And I am too heavy,” said Porthos; “people like me break the cord.”

“I am sure,” said the prisoner, gallantly, “that we could have procured you the sort of death you preferred.”

“A thousand thanks!” said Aramis, seriously.

Porthos bowed. “One more cup of wine to your health,” said he, drinking himself.

From one subject to another the chat with the officer was prolonged. He was an intelligent gentleman, and suffered himself to be led away by the charm of Aramis’s wit and Porthos’s cordial bonhomie. “Pardon me,” said he, “if I address a question to you; but men who are in their sixth bottle have a clear right to forget themselves a little.”

“Address it!” said Porthos; “address it!”