At the same moment, as if the little vessel wished to reply to the words 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 one another 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 boat 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 that 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 persons.
“Surrender!” cried the commander of the vessel through his speaking-trumpet.
The sailors looked at Aramis. Aramis made a sign with his head. The skipper Yves waved a white cloth at the end of a gaff. This was a way of striking their flag. The vessel came on like a race-horse. 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 vessel, “fire!” And the soldiers brought their muskets to the shoulder.
“Did not we say we surrendered?” said the skipper Yves.
“Living! living, Captain!” cried some excited soldiers, “they must be taken living!”
“Well, yes,- living,” said the captain. Then turning towards 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, and more terrible the abysses they covered.
“Do you hear, Monseigneur?” said the sailors.
“Yes.”
“What are your orders?”
“Accept!”
“But you, Monseigneur?”
Aramis leaned still more forward, and played with the ends of his long white fingers with the green water of the sea, to which he turned smiling as to a friend.
“Accept!” repeated he.
“We accept,” repeated the sailors; “but what security have we?”
“The word of a gentleman,” said the officer. “By my rank and by my name I swear that all but M. le Chevalier d’Herblay shall have their lives spared. I am lieutenant of the King’s frigate the ‘Pomona,’ and my name is Louis Constant de Pressigny.”
With a rapid gesture Aramis,- already bent over the side of the boat towards the sea,- with a rapid gesture Aramis raised his head, drew himself up, and with a flashing eye and a smile upon his lips, “Throw out the ladder, Messieurs,” said he, as if the command had belonged to him. He was obeyed. Then Aramis, seizing the rope-ladder, ascended first; but instead of the terror which was expected to be displayed upon his countenance, the surprise of the sailors of the vessel was great when they saw him walk straight up to the commander with a firm step, look at him earnestly, make a sign to him with his hand, a mysterious and unknown sign, at the sight of which the officer turned pale, trembled, and bowed his head. Without saying a word, Aramis then raised his hand close to the eyes of the commander, and showed him the collet of a ring which he wore on the ring-finger of his left hand; and while making this sign, Aramis, draped in cold, silent, and haughty majesty, had the air of an emperor giving his hand to be kissed. The commandant, who for a moment had raised his head, bowed a second time with marks of the most profound respect. Then stretching his hand out in his turn towards the poop,- that is to say, towards his own cabin,- he drew back to allow Aramis to go first. The three Bretons, who had come on board after their bishop, looked at one another, stupefied. The crew were struck with silence. Five minutes after, the commander called the second lieutenant, who returned immediately, ordering the head to be put towards Corunna. While the given order was executed, Aramis reappeared upon the deck, and took a seat near the railing. The night had fallen, the moon had not yet risen; and yet Aramis looked incessantly towards Belle-Isle. Yves then approached the captain, who had returned to take his post in the stern, and said in a low and humble voice, “What course are we to follow, Captain?”