D'Artagnan continues his Investigations.
At daybreak D'Artagnan saddled Furet, who had fared sumptuously all night, devouring the remainder of the oats and hay left by his companions. The musketeer sifted all he possibly could out of the host, who he found cunning, mistrustful, and devoted, body and soul, to M.
Fouquet. In order not to awaken the suspicions of this man, he carried on his fable of being a probable purchaser of some salt-mines. To have embarked for Belle-Isle at Roche-Bernard, would have been to expose himself still further to comments which had, perhaps, been already made, and would be carried to the castle. Moreover, it was singular that this traveler and his lackey should have remained a mystery to D'Artagnan, in spite of all the questions addressed by him to the host, who appeared to know him perfectly well. The musketeer then made some inquiries concerning the salt-mines, and took the road to the marshes, leaving the sea on his right, and penetrating into that vast and desolate plain which resembles a sea of mud, of which, here and there, a few crests of salt silver the undulations. Furet walked admirably, with his little nervous legs, along the foot-wide causeways which separate the salt-mines.
D'Artagnan, aware of the consequences of a fall, which would result in a cold bath, allowed him to go as he liked, contenting himself with looking at, on the horizon, three rocks, that rose up like lance-blades from the bosom of the plain, destitute of verdure. Piriac, the bourgs of Batz and Le Croisic, exactly resembling each other, attracted and suspended his attention. If the traveler turned round, the better to make his observations, he saw on the other side an horizon of three other steeples, Guerande, Le Pouliguen, and Saint-Joachim, which, in their circumference, represented a set of skittles, of which he and Furet were but the wandering ball. Piriac was the first little port on his right.
He went thither, with the names of the principal salters on his lips. At the moment he reached the little port of Piriac, five large barges, laden with stone, were leaving it. It appeared strange to D'Artagnan, that stones should be leaving a country where none are found. He had recourse to all the amenity of M. Agnan to learn from the people of the port the cause of this singular arrangement. An old fisherman replied to M.
Agnan, that the stones very certainly did not come from Piriac or the marshes.
"Where do they come from, then?" asked the musketeer.
"Monsieur, they come from Nantes and Paimboeuf."
"Where are they going, then?"
"Monsieur, to Belle-Isle."
"Ah! ah!" said D'Artagnan, in the same tone he had assumed to tell the printer that his character interested him; "are they building at Belle-Isle, then?"
"Why, yes, monsieur, M. Fouquet has the walls of the castle repaired every year."
"It is in ruins, then?"
"It is old."
"Thank you."
"The fact is," said D'Artagnan to himself, "nothing is more natural; every proprietor has a right to repair his own property. It would be like telling me I was fortifying the Image-de-Notre-Dame, when I was simply obliged to make repairs. In good truth, I believe false reports have been made to his majesty, and he is very likely to be in the wrong."
"You must confess," continued he then, aloud, and addressing the fisherman - for his part of a suspicious man was imposed upon him by the object even of his mission - "you must confess, my dear monsieur, that these stones travel in a very curious fashion."
"How so?" said the fisherman.
"They come from Nantes or Paimboeuf by the Loire, do they not?"
"With the tide."
"That is convenient, - I don't say it is not; but why do they not go straight from Saint-Nazaire to Belle-Isle?"
"Eh! because the _chalands_ (barges) are fresh-water boats, and take the sea badly," replied the fisherman.
"That is not sufficient reason."
"Pardon me, monsieur, one may see that you have never been a sailor," added the fisherman, not without a sort of disdain.
"Explain to me, if you please, my good man. It appears to me that to come from Paimboeuf to Piriac, and go from Piriac to Belle-Isle, is as if we went from Roche-Bernard to Nantes, and from Nantes to Piriac."
"By water that would be the nearest way," replied the fisherman imperturbably.
"But there is an elbow?"
The fisherman shook his head.
"The shortest road from one place to another is a straight line," continued D'Artagnan.
"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 Piriac along the coast; from Piriac 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 a 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."