"You forget the tide, monsieur."

"Well! take the tide."

"And the wind."

"Well, and the wind."

"Without doubt, the current of the Loire carries barks almost as far as
Croisic. If they want to lie by a little, or to refresh the crew, they
come to Pirial along the coast; from Pirial they find another inverse
current, which carries them to the Isle-Dumal, two leagues and a half."

"Granted."

"There the current of the Vilaine throws them upon another isle, the
isle of Hoedic."

"I agree with that."

"Well, monsieur, from that isle to Belle-Isle the way is quite straight.
The sea broken both above and below, passes like a canal--like a mirror
between the two isles; the chalands glide along upon it like ducks upon
the Loire; that's how it is."

"It does not signify," said the obstinate M. Agnan; "it is a long way
round."

"Ah! yes; but M. Fouquet will have it so," replied, as conclusive,
the fisherman, taking off his woolen cap at the enunciation of that
respected name.

A look from D'Artagnan, a look as keen and piercing as a sword-blade,
found nothing in the heart of the old man but simple confidence--on
his features, nothing but satisfaction and indifference. He said, "M.
Fouquet will have it so," as he would have said, "God has willed it."

D'Artagnan had already advanced too far in this direction; besides,
the chalands being gone, there remained nothing at Pirial but a single
bark--that of the old man, and it did not look fit for sea without great
preparation. D'Artagnan therefore patted Furet, who as a new proof
of his charming character, resumed his march with his feet in the
salt-mines, and his nose to the dry wind, which bends the furze and the
broom of this country. They reached Croisic about five o'clock.

If D'Artagnan had been a poet, it was a beautiful spectacle: the immense
strand of a league or more, the sea covers at high tide, and which, at
the reflux, appears gray and desolate, strewed with polypi and seaweed,
with pebbles sparse and white, like bones in some vast old cemetery. But
the soldier, the politician, and the ambitious man, had no longer the
sweet consolation of looking towards heaven to read there a hope or
a warning. A red sky signifies nothing to such people but wind and
disturbance. White and fleecy clouds upon the azure only say that the
sea will be smooth and peaceful. D'Artagnan found the sky blue, the
breeze embalmed with saline perfumes, and he said: "I will embark