All still remained silent, the eyes of all were turned in the direction where the vessel had disappeared, endeavoring in vain to penetrate the darkness.
After a minute or two they were able to distinguish a man, who approached them, swimming vigorously.
Athos extended his arm toward him, pointing him out to his companions.
“Yes, yes, I see him well enough,” said D’Artagnan.
“He — again!” cried Porthos, who was breathing like a blacksmith’s bellows; “why, he is made of iron.”
“Oh, my God!” muttered Athos.
Aramis and D’Artagnan whispered to each other.