“Well, you almost persuade me,” cried M. Agnan; “I will go and see Belle-Isle, but they will not admit me.”

“We shall enter, safe enough.”

“You!  What for?”

“Why, dame! to sell fish to the corsairs.”

“Ha!  Corsairs — what do you mean?”

“Well, I mean that M. Fouquet is having two corsairs built to chase the Dutch and the English, and we sell our fish to the crews of those little vessels.”

“Come, come!” said D’Artagnan to himself — “better and better.  A printing-press, bastions, and corsairs!  Well, M. Fouquet is not an enemy to be despised, as I presumed to fancy.  He is worth the trouble of travelling to see him nearer.”

“We set out at half-past five,” said the fisherman gravely.

“I am quite ready, and I will not leave you now.”  So D’Artagnan saw the fishermen haul their barks to meet the tide with a windlass.  The sea rose; M. Agnan allowed himself to be hoisted on board, not without sporting a little fear and awkwardness, to the amusement of the young beach-urchins who watched him with their large intelligent eyes.  He laid himself down upon a folded sail, not interfering with anything whilst the bark prepared for sea; and, with its large square sail, it was fairly out within two hours.  The fishermen, who prosecuted their occupation as they proceeded, did not perceive that their passenger had not become pale, neither groaned nor suffered; that in spite of that horrible tossing and rolling of the bark, to which no hand imparted direction, the novice passenger had preserved his presence of mind and his appetite.  They fished, and their fishing was sufficiently fortunate.  To lines bated with prawn, soles came, with numerous gambols, to bite.  Two nets had already been broken by the immense weight of congers and haddocks; three sea-eels plowed the hold with their slimy folds and their dying contortions.  D’Artagnan brought them good luck; they told him so.  The soldier found the occupation so pleasant, that he put his hand to the work — that is to say, to the lines — and uttered roars of joy, and mordioux enough to have astonished his musketeers themselves, every time that a shock given to his line by the captured fish required the play of the muscles of his arm, and the employment of his best dexterity.  The party of pleasure had made him forget his diplomatic mission.  He was struggling with a very large conger, and holding fast with one hand to the side of the vessel, in order to seize with the other the gaping jowl of his antagonist, when the master said to him, “Take care they don’t see you from Belle-Isle!”