The sailors were just in time to catch hold of him to steady themselves; for his weight and the rebound had almost upset the boat.
"His grace cannot be in his senses," said the admiral aloud to Raoul.
"I am uneasy on the Duke's account," replied Bragelonne.
While the boat was advancing towards the shore, the duke kept his eyes immovably fixed on the admiral's ship, like a miser torn away from his coffers, or a mother separated from her child, about to be lead away to death.

No one, however, acknowledged his signals, his frowns, or his pitiful gestures.

In very anguish of mind, he sank down in the boat, burying his hands in his hair, whilst the boat, impelled by the exertions of the merry sailors, flew over the waves.

On his arrival he was in such a state of apathy, that, had he not been received at the harbor by the messenger whom he had directed to precede him, he would hardly have had strength to ask his way.

Having once, however, reached the house which had been set apart for him, he shut himself up, like Achilles in his tent.