“That is precisely the very reflection I was silently making to myself,” replied Bragelonne.
“Shall we get into that boat, then, and push off? Will you come, De Wardes?”
“Take care, or you will get drowned,” said Manicamp.
“And for no purpose,” said De Wardes, “for with the wind in your teeth, as it will be, you will never reach the vessels.”
“You refuse, then?”
“Assuredly I do; I would willingly risk and lose my life in an encounter against men,” he said, glancing at Bragelonne, “but as to fighting with oars against waves, I have no taste for that.”
“And for myself,” said Manicamp, “even were I to succeed in reaching the ships, I should not be indifferent to the loss of the only good dress which I have left,—salt water would spoil it.”
“You, then, refuse also?” exclaimed De Guiche.
“Decidedly I do; I beg you to understand that most distinctly.”
“But,” exclaimed De Guiche, “look, De Wardes—look, Manicamp—look yonder, the princesses are looking at us from the poop of the admiral’s vessel.”