“A surprise?”

“Yes; the canal which goes from Vannes to the sea abounds in teal and snipes; that is Porthos’s favorite sport, and he will bring us back a dozen for breakfast.”

“Do you think so?” said D’Artagnan.

“I am sure of it.  Where else can he be?  I would lay a wager he took a gun with him.”

“Well, that is possible,” said D’Artagnan.

“Do one thing, my friend.  Get on horseback, and join him.”

“You are right,” said D’Artagnan, “I will.”

“Shall I go with you?”

“No, thank you; Porthos is a rather remarkable man:  I will inquire as I go along.”

“Will you take an arquebus?”

“Thank you.”

“Order what horse you like to be saddled.”

“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 you to make such a useless search; but, about seven o’clock, the almoner of Saint-Patern 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 of Belle-Isle.”