Aramis once more replied by shaking his head.
“Porthos,” at length said he, “if I have had the matches lighted and the guns pointed, if I have had the signal of alarm sounded, if I have called every man to his post upon the ramparts, those good ramparts of Belle-Isle which you have so well fortified, it was not for nothing. Wait to judge; or rather, no, do not wait—”
“What can I do?”
“If I knew, my friend, I would have told you.”
“But there is one thing much more simple than defending ourselves:—a boat, and away for France—where—”
“My dear friend,” said Aramis, smiling with a strong shade of sadness, “do not let us reason like children; let us be men in council and in execution.—But, hark! I hear a hail for landing at the port. Attention, Porthos, serious attention!”
“It is D’Artagnan, no doubt,” said Porthos, in a voice of thunder, approaching the parapet.
“Yes, it is I,” replied the captain of the musketeers, running lightly up the steps of the mole, and gaining rapidly the little esplanade on which his two friends waited for him. As soon as he came towards them, Porthos and Aramis observed an officer who followed D’Artagnan, treading apparently in his very steps. The captain stopped upon the stairs of the mole, when half-way up. His companions imitated him.
“Make your men draw back,” cried D’Artagnan to Porthos and Aramis; “let them retire out of hearing.” This order, given by Porthos, was executed immediately. Then D’Artagnan, turning towards him who followed him:
“Monsieur,” said he, “we are no longer on board the king’s fleet, where, in virtue of your order, you spoke so arrogantly to me, just now.”