repaired every year.”
“Is it in ruins, then?”
“It is old.”
“Thank you.”
“The fact is,” said D’Artagnan to himself, “nothing is more
natural; every proprietor has a right to repair his own
property. It would be like telling me I was fortifying the
Image-de-Notre-Dame, when I was simply obliged to make
repairs. In good truth, I believe false reports have been
made to his majesty, and he is very likely to be in the
wrong.”
“You must confess,” continued he then, aloud, and addressing
the fisherman — for his part of a suspicious man was
imposed upon him by the object even of his mission — “you
must confess, my dear monsieur, that these stones travel in
a very curious fashion.”
“How so?” said the fisherman
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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
“They come from Nantes or Painboeuf by the Loire, do they
not?”
“With the tide.”
“That is convenient, — I don’t say it is not, but why do
they not go straight from Saint-Nazaire to Belle-Isle?”
“Eh! because the chalands (barges) are fresh-water boats,
and take the sea badly,” replied, the fisherman.
“That is not sufficient reason.”
“Pardon me, monsieur, one may see that you have never been a
sailor, added the fisherman, not without a sort of disdain.
“Explain that to me, if you please, my good man. It appears
to me that to come from Painboeuf to Pirial, and go from
Pirial to Belle-Isle, is as if we went from Roche-Bernard to
Nantes, and from Nantes to Pirial.”
“By water that would be the nearest way,” replied the
fisherman imperturbably.
“But there is an elbow?”
The fisherman shook his head.
“The shortest road from one place to another is a straight
line,” continued D’Artagnan.
“You forget the tide, monsieur.”
“Well! take the tide.”
“And the wind.”
“Well, and the wind.”
“Without doubt, the current of the Loire carries barks
almost as far as Croisic. If they want to lie by a little,
or to refresh the crew, they come to Pirial along the coast;
from Pirial they find another inverse current, which carries
them to the Isle-Dumal, two leagues and a half.”
“Granted.”
“There the current of the Vilaine throws them upon another
isle, the isle of Hoedic.”
“I agree with that.”
“Well, monsieur, from that isle to Belle-Isle the way is
quite straight. The sea broken both above and below, passes
like a canal — like a mirror between the two isles; the
chalands glide along upon it like ducks upon the Loire;
that’s how it is.”
“It does not signify,” said the obstinate M. Agnan; “it is a
long way round.”
“Ah! yes; but M. Fouquet will have it so,” replied, as
conclusive, the fisherman, taking off his woolen cap at the
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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
enunciation of that respected name.
A look from D’Artagnan, a look as keen and piercing as a
sword-blade, found nothing in the heart of the old man but
simple confidence — on his features, nothing but
satisfaction and indifference. He said, “M. Fouquet will
have it so,” as he would have said, “God has willed it.”
D’Artagnan had already advanced too far in this direction;
besides, the chalands being gone, there remained nothing at
Pirial but a single bark — that of the old man, and it did
not look fit for sea without great preparation. D’Artagnan
therefore patted Furet, who as a new proof of his charming
character, resumed his march with his feet in the
salt-mines, and his nose to the dry wind, which bends the
furze and the broom of this country. They reached Croisic
about five o’clock.
If D’Artagnan had been a poet, it was a beautiful spectacle:
the immense strand of a league or more, the sea covers at
high tide, and which, at the reflux, appears gray and
desolate, strewed with polypi and seaweed, with pebbles
sparse and white, like bones in some vast old cemetery. But
the soldier, the politician, and the ambitious man, had no
longer the sweet consolation of looking towards heaven to
read there a hope or a warning. A red sky signifies nothing
to such people but wind and disturbance. White and fleecy
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