s--"

"In search of the others! Yes; to be sure I have," replied Porthos,
quite simply.

"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 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 Valon; 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 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, 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 from the bishop having 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, then, my good Porthos, and say nothing."

This reply did not satisfy Porthos at all. He turned away, grumbling
some words in a very ill hu