aying, he rose from the table, went
straight to the wall, and coolly took down his sword and pistols, which
he examined with the care of an old soldier who is preparing for battle,
and who feels that his life, in a great measure, depends upon the
excellence and the good condition of his arms.

At the report of the cannon, at the news of the surprise which might
deliver up the isle to the royal troops, the terrified crowd rushed
precipitately to the fort to demand assistance and advice from their
leaders. Aramis, pale and downcast, between two flambeaux, showed
himself at the window which looked into the principal court, full of
soldiers waiting for orders and bewildered inhabitants imploring succor.

"My friends," said D'Herblay, in a grave and sonorous voice, "M.
Fouquet, your protector, your friend, your father, has been arrested by
an order of the king, and thrown into the Bastille." A long cry of fury
and menace came floating up to the window at which the bishop stood, and
enveloped him in a vibrating fluid.

"Avenge Monsieur Fouquet!" cried the most excited of his hearers, "and
death to the royalists!"

"No, my friends," replied Aramis, solemnly; "no, my friends; no
resistance. The king is master in his kingdom. The king is the mandatory
of God. The king and God have struck M. Fouquet. Humble yourselves
before the hand of God. Love God and the king, who have struck M.
Fouquet. But do not avenge your seigneur, do not think of avenging him.
You would sacrifice yourselves in vain--you, your wives and children,
your property, and your liberty. Lay down your arms, my friends--lay
down your arms! since the king commands you so to do--and retire
peaceably to your dwellings. It is I who ask you to do so; it is I who
beg you to do so; it is I who now, in the hour of need, command you to
do so, in the name of M. Fouquet."

The crowd collected under the window uttered a prolonged growl of anger
and terror. "The soldiers of Louis XIV. have entered the island,"
continued Aramis. "From this time it would no longer be a combat between
them and you--it would be a massacre. Begone, then, begone and forget;
this time I command you, in the name of the Lord."

The mutineers retired slowly, submissive and silent.

"Ah! what have you just been saying there, my friend?" said Porthos.

"Monsieur," said Biscarrat to the bishop, "you may save all these
inhabitants, but you will neither save yourself nor your friend."

"Monsieur de