"But myself, sire," said the duke.

"You, monsieur, you will only speak to him in the presence of the
musketeers." The duke bowed and departed to execute his commission.

D'Artagnan was about to retire likewise; but the king stopped him.

"Monsieur," said he, "you will go immediately, and take possession of
the isle and fief of Belle-Ile-en-Mer."

"Yes, sire. Alone?"

"You will take a sufficient number of troops to prevent delay, in case
the place should be contumacious."

A murmur of courtly incredulity rose from the group of courtiers. "That
shall be done," said D'Artagnan.

"I saw the place in my infancy," resumed the king, "and I do not wish to
see it again. You have heard me? Go, monsieur, and do not return without
the keys."

Colbert went up to D'Artagnan. "A commission which, if you carry it out
well," said he, "will be worth a marechal's baton to you."

"Why do you employ the words, 'if you carry it out well'?"

"Because it is difficult."

"Ah! in what respect?"

"You have friends in Belle-Isle, Monsieur d'Artagnan; and it is not an
easy thing for men like you to march over the bodies of their friends to
obtain success."

D'Artagnan hung his head in deepest thought, whilst Colbert returned to
the king. A quarter of an hour after, the captain received the written
order from the king, to blow up the fortress of Belle-Isle, in case of
resistance, with power of life and death over all the inhabitants or
refugees, and an injunction not to allow one to escape.

"Colbert was right," thought D'Artagnan; "for me the baton of a marechal
of France will cost the lives of my two friends. Only they seem to
forget that my friends are not more stupid than the birds, and that they
will not wait for the hand of the fowler to extend over their wings.
I will show them that hand so plainly, that they will have quite time
enough to see it. Poor Porthos! Poor Aramis! No; my fortune should shall
not cost your wings a feather."

Having thus determined, D'Artagnan assembled the royal army, embarked it
at Paimboeuf, and set sail, without the loss of an unnecessary minute.

Chapter XLII. Belle-Ile-en-Mer.

At the extremity of the mole, against which the furious sea beats at the
evening tide, two men, holding each other by the arm, were conversing
in an animated and expansive tone, without the possibility of any other
human being hearing their words, borne away, as they were, one by one,
by the gusts of wind, with