“Ah, my friend!” cried Porthos, “like the crows, you always bring bad omens. Who could intercept us on such a night as this, pitch dark, when one does not see more than twenty yards before one?”
“Yes, but to-morrow morning — — ”
“To-morrow we shall be at Boulogne.”
“I hope so, with all my heart,” said the Gascon, “and I confess my weakness.
Yes, Athos, you may laugh, but as long as we were within gunshot of the pier or of the vessels lying by it I was looking for a frightful discharge of musketry which would crush us.”
“But,” said Porthos, with great wisdom, “that was