is son. With his arms
hanging down, his eyes fixed, his mouth open, he remained confounded
with Raoul--in one same look, in one same thought, in one same stupor.
The sea, by degrees, carried away boats and faces, until at the distance
at which men become nothing but points--loves, nothing but remembrances,
Athos saw his son ascend the ladder of the admiral's ship, he saw him
lean upon the rail of the deck, and place himself in such a manner as to
be always an object in the eye of his father. In vain the cannon
thundered, in vain from the ship sounded a long and loud tumult,
responded to by immense acclamations from the shore; in vain did the
noise deafen the ear of the father, and the smoke obscure the cherished
object of all his aspirations. Raoul appeared to him up to the last
moment; and the imperceptible atom, passing from black to pale, from
pale to white, from white to nothing, disappeared for Athos--disappeared
very long after, for all the eyes of the spectators, had disappeared
both gallant ships and swelling sails. Toward mid-day, when the sun
devoured space, and scarcely the tops of the masts dominated the
incandescent line of the sea, Athos perceived a soft, aerial shadow
rise, and vanish as soon as seen. This was the smoke of a cannon, which
M. de Beaufort ordered to be fired as a last salute to the coast of
France. The point was buried in its turn beneath the sky, and Athos
returned painfully and slowly to his hostelry.

CHAPTER CVIII.

AMONG WOMEN.

D'Artagnan had not been able to hide his feelings from his friends so
much as he would have wished. The stoical soldier, the impassible
man-at-arms, overcome by fear and presentiments, had yielded, for a few
minutes, to human weakness. When, therefore, he had silenced his heart
and calmed the agitation of his nerves, turning toward his lackey, a
silent servant, always listening in order to obey the more promptly:

"Rabaud," said he, "mind, we must travel thirty leagues a day."

"At your pleasure, captain," replied Rabaud.

And from that moment D'Artagnan, accommodating his action to the pace of
his horse, like a true centaur, employed his thoughts about
nothing--that is to say, about everything. He asked himself why the king
had sent for him back; why the Iron Mask had thrown the silver plate at
the feet of Raoul? As to the first subject, the reply was negative; he
knew right well that the king's calling him was from necessity. He still
further k