doubt, some Greek fire to lighten
their own course and ours likewise."

At the same moment, as if the little vessel wished to reply to the
appeal of Aramis, a second cloud of smoke mounted slowly to the heavens,
and from the bosom of that cloud sparkled an arrow of flame, which
described its parabola like a rainbow, and fell into the sea, where it
continued to burn, illuminating a space of a quarter of a league in
diameter.

The Bretons looked at each other in terror. "You see plainly," said
Aramis, "it will be better to wait for them."

The oars dropped from the hands of the sailors, and the bark, ceasing to
make way, rocked motionless on the summits of the waves. Night came on,
but the vessel still approached nearer. It might be said it redoubled
its speed with the darkness. From time to time, as a bloody-necked
vulture rears its head out of its nest, the formidable Greek fire darted
from its sides, and cast its flame into the ocean like an incandescent
snow. At last it came within musket-shot. All the men were on deck, arms
in hand; the cannoneers were at their guns, the matches were burning. It
might be thought they were about to board a frigate and to combat a crew
superior in number to their own, and not to take a canoe manned by four
people.

"Surrender!" cried the commander of the balancelle, with the aid of his
speaking trumpet.

The sailors looked at Aramis. Aramis made a sign with his head. The
patron Yves waved a white cloth at the end of a gaff. This was like
striking their flag. The vessel came on like a racehorse. It launched a
fresh Greek fire which fell within twenty paces of the little canoe, and
threw a stronger light upon them than the most ardent ray of the sun
could have done.

"At the first sign of resistance," cried the commander of the
balancelle, "fire!" And the soldiers brought their muskets to the
present.

"Did not we say we surrendered?" said the patron Yves.

"Living! living! captain!" cried some highly exalted soldiers, "they
must be taken living!"

"Well, yes--living," said the captain. Then turning toward the Bretons,
"Your lives are all safe, my friends!" cried he, "except the Chevalier
d'Herblay."

Aramis started imperceptibly. For an instant his eye was fixed upon the
depths of the ocean enlightened by the last flashes of the Greek fire,
flashes which ran along the sides of the waves, played upon their crests
like plumes, and rendered still more dark, more mysterious an