Aramis made no reply; the ship still gained upon them. Then, of their own accord, two of the sailors, by the direction of the patron Yves, lowered the sail, in order that that single point, which appeared above the surface of the waters, should cease to be a guide to the eye of the enemy who was pursuing them. On the part of the ship in sight, on the contrary, two more small sails were run up at the extremities of the masts. Unfortunately, it was the time of the finest and longest days of the year, and the moon, in all her brilliancy, succeeded to this inauspicious daylight. The balancelle, which was pursuing the little bark before the wind, had then still half an hour of twilight, and a whole night almost as light as day.
"Monseigneur! monseigneur! we are lost!" said the patron; "look! they see us although we have lowered our sail."
"That is not to be wondered at," murmured one of the sailors, "since they say that, by the aid of the devil, the people of the cities have fabricated instruments with which they see as well at a distance as near, by night as well as by day."
Aramis took a telescope from the bottom of the boat, arranged it silently, and passing it to the sailor: "Here," said he, "look!" The sailor hesitated.
"Don't be alarmed," said the bishop, "there is no sin in it; and if there is any sin, I will take it upon myself."
The sailor lifted the glass to his eye and uttered a cry. He believed that the vessel, which appeared to be distant about cannon-shot, had suddenly and at a single bound cleared the distance. But, on withdrawing the instrument from his eye, he saw that, except the way which the balancelle had been able to make during that short instant, it was still at the same distance.
"So," murmured the sailor, "they can see us as we see them."
"They see us," said Aramis, and sank again into his impassibility.
"How—they see us!" said the patron Yves, "impossible!"
"Well, patron, look yourself," said the sailor. And he passed to him the glass.