There was a terrible moment--that at which, on quitting the sands of the shore, the soldiers and sailors exchanged the last kisses with their families and friends; a supreme moment, in which, notwithstanding the clearness of the heavens, the warmth of the sun, of the perfumes of the air, and the rich life that was circulating in their veins, everything appeared black, everything bitter, everything created doubts of Providence, nay, at the most, of God.

It was customary for the admiral and his suite to embark last; the cannon waited to announce, with its formidable voice, that the leader had placed his foot on board his vessel.

Athos, forgetful of both the admiral and the fleet, and of his own dignity as a strong man, opened his arms to his son, and pressed him convulsively to his heart.
"Accompany us on board," said the duke, very much affected; "you will gain a good half-hour." "No," said Athos, "my farewell has been spoken, I do not wish to voice a second." "Then, vicomte, embark--embark quickly!" added the prince, wishing to spare the tears of these two men, whose hearts were bursting.

And paternally, tenderly, very much as Porthos might have done, he took Raoul in his arms and placed him in the boat, the oars of which, at a signal, immediately were dipped in the waves.

He himself, forgetful of ceremony, jumped into his boat, and pushed it off with a vigorous foot.
"Adieu!" cried Raoul.
Athos replied only by a sign, but he felt something burning on his hand: it was the respectful kiss of Grimaud--the last farewell of the faithful dog.