“That can be raised,” said Porthos; “that is nothing.”
“Oh! I know that Monseigneur has the strength of ten men,” replied Yves; “but that is giving Monseigneur a great deal of trouble.”
“I think the skipper may be right,” said Aramis; “let us try the open passage.”
“The more so, Monseigneur,” continued the fisherman, “that we should not be able to embark before day, it would require so much labor; and that as soon as daylight appears, a good vedette placed outside the grotto would be necessary, indispensable even, to watch the manoeuvres of the lighters or the cruisers that are upon the lookout for us.”
“Yes, yes, Yves, your reasons are good; we will go by the beach.”
And the three robust Bretons went to the boat, and were beginning to place their rollers underneath it to put it in motion, when the distant barking of dogs was heard, proceeding from the interior of the island.
Aramis darted out of the grotto, followed by Porthos. Dawn just tinted with purple and white the waves and the plain; through the dim light the young melancholy firs waved their tender branches over the pebbles, and long flights of crows were skimming with their black wings over the thin fields of buckwheat. In a quarter of an hour it would be clear daylight; the awakened birds joyously announced it to all nature. The barkings which had been heard, which had stopped the three fishermen engaged in moving the boat, and had brought Aramis and Porthos out of the cavern, were prolonged in a deep gorge within about a league of the grotto.
“It is a pack of hounds,” said Porthos; “the dogs are upon a scent.”
“Who can be hunting at such a moment as this?” said Aramis.
“And this way, particularly,” continued Porthos, “this way, where they may expect the army of the Royalists.”
“The noise comes nearer. Yes, you are right, Porthos, the dogs are on a scent. But, Yves!” cried Aramis, “come here! come here!”
Yves ran towards him, letting fall the cylinder which he was about to place under the boat when the bishop’s call interrupted him.
“What is the meaning of this hunt, Skipper?” said Porthos.
“Eh, Monseigneur, I cannot understand it,” replied the Breton. “It is not at such a moment that the Seigneur de Locmaria would hunt. No; and yet the dogs-”
“Unless they have escaped from the kennel.”
“No,” said Goennec, “they are not the Seigneur de Locmaria’s hounds.”
“In common prudence,” said Aramis, “let us go back into the grotto; the voices evidently draw nearer, we shall soon know what we have to expect.”
They re-entered, but had scarcely proceeded a hundred steps in the darkness when a noise like the hoarse sigh of a creature in distress resounded through the cavern, and breathless, running, terrified, a fox passed like a flash of lightning before the fugitives, leaped over the boat and disappeared, leaving behind it its sour scent, which was perceptible for several seconds under the low vaults of the cave.
“The fox!” cried the Bretons, with the joyous surprise of hunters.
“Accursed chance!” cried the bishop; “our retreat is discovered.”
“How so?” said Porthos; “are we afraid of a fox?”
“Eh, my friend, what do you mean by that, and why do you name the fox? It is not the fox alone, pardieu! But don’t you know, Porthos, that after the fox come hounds, and after the hounds men?”
Porthos hung his head. As if to confirm the words of Aramis they heard the yelping pack coming with frightful swiftness upon the trail of the animal. Six foxhounds burst out at once upon the little heath, with a cry resembling the noise of a triumph.
“There are the dogs plain enough!” said Aramis, posted on the look-out behind a chink between two rocks; “now, who are the huntsmen?”
“If it is the Seigneur de Locmaria’s,” replied the skipper, “he will leave the dogs to hunt the grotto, for he knows them, and will not enter in himself, being quite sure that the fox will come out at the other side; it is there he will go and wait for him.”
“It is not the Seigneur de Locmaria who is hunting,” replied Aramis, turning pale in spite of himself.