“No,” replied Athos; “and he——”
“Oh, he! now we may say at last, thank Heaven! he is really dead. Look!” and D’Artagnan, obliging Athos to look in the direction he pointed, showed him the body of Mordaunt floating on its back, which, sometimes submerged, sometimes rising, seemed still to pursue the four friends with looks of insult and mortal hatred.
At last he sank. Athos had followed him with a glance in which the deepest melancholy and pity were expressed.
“Bravo! Athos!” cried Aramis, with an emotion very rare in him.
“A capital blow you gave!” cried Porthos.
“I have a son. I wished to live,” said Athos.
“In short,” said D’Artagnan, “this has been the will of God.”
“It was not I who killed him,” said Athos in a soft, low tone, “’twas destiny.”
Chapter LXIV.
How Mousqueton had a Narrow Escape of being eaten.
A deep silence reigned for a long time in the boat after the fearful scene described.