“The one I rode yesterday, on coming from Belle-Isle.”
“So be it: use the horse as your own.”
Aramis rang, and gave orders to have the horse M. d’Artagnan
had chosen, saddled.
D’Artagnan followed the servant charged with the execution
of this order. When arrived at the door, the servant drew on
one side to allow M. d’Artagnan to pass; and at that moment
he caught the eye of his master. A knitting of the brow gave
the intelligent spy to understand that all should be given
to D’Artagnan he wished. D’Artagnan got into the saddle, and
Aramis heard the steps of his horse on the pavement. An
instant after, the servant returned.
“Well?” asked the bishop.
“Monseigneur, he has followed the course of the canal, and
is going towards the sea,” said the servant.
“Very well!” said Aramis.
In fact, D’Artagnan, dismissing all suspicion, hastened
towards the ocean, constantly hoping to see in the Landes,
or on the beach, the colossal profile of Porthos. He
persisted in fancying he could trace a horse’s steps in
every puddle. Sometimes he imagined he heard the report of a
gun. This illusion lasted three hours; during two of which
he went forward in search of his friend — in the last he
returned to the house.
“We must have crossed,” said he, “and I shall find them
waiting for me at table.”
D’Artagnan was mistaken. He no more found Porthos at the
palace than he had found him on the sea-shore. Aramis was
waiting for him at the top of the stairs, looking very much
concerned.
“Did my people not find you, my dear D’Artagnan?” cried he,
as soon as he caught sight of the musketeer.
“No; did you send any one after me?”
“I am deeply concerned, my friend, deeply, to have induced
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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
you to make such a useless search, but, about seven o’clock,
the almoner of Saint-Paterne came here. He had met Du
Vallon, who was going away, and who being unwilling to
disturb anybody at the palace, had charged him to tell me
that, fearing M. Getard would play him some ill turn in his
absence, he was going to take advantage of the morning tide
to make a tour to Belle-Isle.”
“But tell me, Goliath has not crossed the four leagues of
sea, I should think.”
“There are full six,” said Aramis.
“That makes it less probable still.”
“Therefore, my friend,” said Aramis, with one of his
blandest smiles, “Goliath is in the stable, well pleased, I
will answer for it, that Porthos is no longer on his back.”
In fact, the horse had been brought back from the relay by
the direction of the prelate, from whom no detail escaped.
D’Artagnan appeared as well satisfied as possible with the
explanation. He entered upon a part of dissimulation which
agreed perfectly with the suspicions that arose more and
more strongly in his mind. He breakfasted between the Jesuit
and Aramis, having the Dominican in front of him, and
smiling particularly at the Dominican, whose jolly, fat face
pleased him much. The repast was long and sumptuous;
excellent Spanish wine, fine Morbihan oysters, exquisite
fish from the mouth of the Loire, enormous prawns from
Paimboeuf, and delicious game from the moors, constituted
the principal part of it. D’Artagnan ate much, and drank but
little. Aramis drank nothing, unless it was water. After the
repast, —
“You offered me an arquebuse,” said D’Artagnan.
“I did.”
“Lend it me, then.”
“Are you going shooting?”
“Whilst waiting for Porthos, it is the best thing I can do,
I think.”
“Take which you like from the trophy.”
“Will you not come with me?”
“I would with great pleasure; but, alas! my friend, sporting
is forbidden to bishops.”
“Ah!” said D’Artagnan, “I did not know that.”
“Besides,” continued Aramis, “I shall be busy till mid-day.”
“I shall go alone, then?” said D’Artagnan.
“I am sorry to say you must; but come back to dinner.”
“Pardieu! the eating at your house is too good to make me
think of not coming back.” And thereupon D’Artagnan quitted
his host, bowed to the guests, and took his arquebuse; but
instead of shooting, went straight to the little port of
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