“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 with as possible with the explanation.  He entered upon a part of dissimulation which agreed perfectly with the suspicions that arose 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 arquebus,” 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 arquebus; but instead of shooting, went straight to the little port of Vannes.  He looked in vain to observe if anybody saw him; he could discern neither thing nor person.  He engaged a little fishing boat for twenty-five livres, and set off at half-past eleven, convinced that he had not been followed; and that was true, he had not been followed; only a Jesuit brother, placed in the top of the steeple of his church, had not, since the morning, by the help of an excellent glass, lost sight of one of his steps.  At three quarters past eleven, Aramis was informed that D’Artagnan was sailing towards Belle-Isle.  The voyage was rapid; a good north north-east wind drove him towards the isle.  As he approached, his eyes were constantly fixed upon the coast.  He looked to see if, upon the shore or upon the fortifications the brilliant dress and vast stature of Porthos should stand out against a slightly clouded sky; but his search was in vain.