“Hear me, then,” said the latter with an air of simple stupidity; four leagues off you lose sight of land, do you not?” “Why, not always.” “Ah, it is a long way—too long, or else I would have asked you to take me aboard, and to show me what I have never seen.” “What is that?” “A live sea-fish.” “Monsieur comes from the province?” said a fisherman. “Yes, I come from Paris.” The Breton shrugged his shoulders; then: “Have you ever seen M. Fouquet in Paris?” asked he. “Often,” replied D’Artagnan. “Often!” repeated the fishermen, closing their circle round the Parisian. “Do you know him?” “A little, he is the intimate friend of my master.” “Ah!” said the fisherman, in astonishment. “And,” said D’Artagnan, “I have seen all his chateaux of Saint-Mande, of Vaux, and his hotel in Paris.” “Is that a fine place?” “Superb.” “It is not so fine a place as Belle-Isle,” said the fisherman. “Bah!” cried M. d’Artagnan, breaking into a laugh so loud that he angered all his auditors. “It is very plain that you have never seen Belle-Isle,” said the most curious of the fishermen. “Do you know that there are six leagues of it, and that there are such trees on it as cannot be equaled even at Nantes-sur-le-Fosse?” “Trees in the sea!” cried D’Artagnan; “well, I should like to see them.” “That can be easily done; we are fishing at the Isle de Hoedic—come with us. From that place you will see, as a Paradise, the black trees of Belle-Isle against the sky; you will see the white line of the castle, which cuts the horizon of the sea like a blade.” “Oh,” said D’Artagnan, “that must be very beautiful. But do you know there are a hundred belfries at M. Fouquet’s chateau of Vaux?” The Breton raised his head in profound admiration, but he was not convinced. “A hundred belfries! Ah that may be, but Belle-Isle is finer than that. Should you like to see Belle-Isle?” “Is that possible?” asked D’Artagnan. “Yes, with permission of the governor.” “But I do not know the governor.” “As you know M. Fouquet, you can tell your name.” “Oh, my friends, I am not a gentleman.” “Everybody enters Belle-Isle,” continued the fisherman in his strong, pure language, “provided he means no harm to Belle-Isle or its master.” A slight shudder crept over the body of the musketeer. “That is true,” thought he. Then recovering himself, “If I were sure,” said he, “not to be sea-sick.” “What, upon her?” said the fisherman, pointing with pride to his pretty round-bottomed bark. “Well, you almost persuade me,” cried M. Agnan; “I will go and see Belle-Isle, but they will not admit me.” “We shall enter, safe enough.” “You! What for?” “Why, dame! to sell fish to the corsairs.” “Ha! Corsairs—what do you mean?” “Well, I mean that M. Fouquet is having two corsairs built to chase the Dutch and the English, and we sell our fish to the crews of those little vessels.”