“But Athos!” exclaimed D’Artagnan.

Suddenly the boat leaned on one side beneath a new and unexpected weight and Grimaud uttered a shout of joy; every one turned around and beheld Athos, livid, his eyes dim and his hands trembling, supporting himself on the edge of the boat.  Eight vigorous arms lifted him up immediately and laid him in the boat, where directly Athos was warmed and reanimated, reviving with the caresses and cares of his friends, who were intoxicated with joy.

“You are not hurt?” asked D’Artagnan.

“No,” replied Athos; “and he ——­ "

“Oh, he! now we may say at last, thank Heaven! he is really dead.  Look!” and D’Artagnan, obliging Athos to look in the direction he pointed, showed him the body of Mordaunt floating on its back, which, sometimes submerged, sometimes rising, seemed still to pursue the four friends with looks of insult and mortal hatred.

At last he sank.  Athos had followed him with a glance in which the deepest melancholy and pity were expressed.

“Bravo!  Athos!” cried Aramis, with an emotion very rare in him.

“A capital blow you gave!” cried Porthos.

“I have a son.  I wished to live,” said Athos.

“In short,” said D’Artagnan, “this has been the will of God.”

“It was not I who killed him,” said Athos in a soft, low tone, “’twas destiny.”

74

How Mousqueton, after being very nearly roasted, had a Narrow
Escape of being eaten.

A deep silence reigned for a long time in the boat after the fearful scene described.

The moon, which had shone for a short time, disappeared behind the clouds; every object was again plunged in the obscurity that is so awful in the deserts and still more so in that liquid desert, the ocean, and nothing was heard save the whistling of the west wind driving along the tops of the crested billows.

Porthos was the first to speak.

“I have seen,” he said, “many dreadful things, but nothing that ever agitated me so much as what I have just witnessed.  Nevertheless, even in my present state of perturbation, I protest that I feel happy.  I have a hundred pounds’ weight less upon my chest.  I breathe more freely.”  In fact, Porthos breathed so loud as to do credit to the free play of his powerful lungs.

“For my part,” observed Aramis, “I cannot say the same as you do, Porthos.  I am still terrified to such a degree that I scarcely believe my eyes.  I look around the boat, expecting every moment to see that poor wretch holding between his hands the poniard plunged into his heart.”

“Oh!  I feel easy,” replied Porthos.  “The poniard was pointed at the sixth rib and buried up to the hilt in his body.  I do not reproach you, Athos, for what you have done.  On the contrary, when one aims a blow that is the regulation way to strike.  So now, I breathe again —­ I am happy!”

“Don’t be in haste to celebrate a victory, Porthos,” interposed D’Artagnan; “never have we incurred a greater danger than we are now encountering.  Men may subdue men —­ they cannot overcome the elements.  We are now on the sea, at night, without any pilot, in a frail bark; should a blast of wind upset the boat we are lost.”