prelate, which penetrated that hardened heart.

“Dear Porthos!” cried the bishop of Vannes.

“You see what is being done against you,” said D’Artagnan; “interception of all boats coming to or going from Belle-Isle. Your means of transport seized. If you had endeavored to fly, you would have fallen into the hands of the cruisers that plow the sea in all directions, on the watch for you. The king wants you to be taken, and he will take you.” D’Artagnan tore at his gray mustache. Aramis grew somber, Porthos angry.

“My idea was this,” continued D’Artagnan: “to make you both come on board, to keep you near me, and restore you your liberty. But now, who can say, when I return to my ship, I