to
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 boa