The Man in the Iron Mask
Monsieur de Beaufort.
The at the moment when Raoul, in order to him alone with Athos, was the door, and preparing to go with the other officers into an apartment.
“Is that the man I have M. le Prince speak so of?” asked M. de Beaufort.
“It is, monseigneur.”
“He is the soldier; let him stay, count, we cannot him.”
“Remain, Raoul, since it,” said Athos.
“Ma foi! he is tall and handsome!” the duke. “Will you give him to me, monseigneur, if I ask him of you?”
“How am I to you, monseigneur?” said Athos.
“Why, I call upon you to you farewell.”
“Farewell!”
“Yes, in good truth. Have you no idea of what I am about to become?”
“Why, I suppose, what you have always been, monseigneur,—a prince, and an excellent gentleman.”
“I am going to an African prince,—a Bedouin gentleman. The king is sending me to make among the Arabs.”
“What is this you tell me, monseigneur?”
“Strange, is it not? I, the Parisian essence, I who have in the faubourgs, and have been called King of the Halles,—I am going to pass from the Place Maubert to the of Gigelli; from a Frondeur I am an adventurer!”
“Oh, monseigneur, if you did not tell me that—”
“It would not be credible, would it? Believe me, nevertheless, and we have but to each other farewell. This is what comes of into again.”
“Into favor?”
“Yes. You smile. Ah, my dear count, do you know why I have this enterprise, can you guess?”
“Because your loves above—everything.”
“Oh! no; there is no in at savages. I see no in that, for my part, and it is more that I shall there meet with something else. But I have wished, and still wish earnestly, my dear count, that my life should have that last facet, after all the I have myself make fifty years. For, in short, you must admit that it is to be the of a king, to have against kings, to have been among the powers of the age, to have my rank, to Henry IV. me, to be great of France—and then to go and killed at Gigelli, among all those Turks, Saracens, and Moors.”
“Monseigneur, you with on that theme,” said Athos, in an voice. “How can you that so a will be in that and scene?”
“And can you believe, and as you are, that if I go into Africa for this motive, I will not to come out of it without ridicule? Shall I not give the world to speak of me? And to be spoken of, nowadays, when there are Monsieur le Prince, M. de Turenne, and many others, my contemporaries, I, of France, of Henry IV., king of Paris, have I anything left but to myself killed? Cordieu! I will be talked of, I tell you; I shall be killed or not; if not there, else.”
“Why, monseigneur, this is exaggeration; and you have nothing save in bravery.”
“Peste! my dear friend, there is in scurvy, dysentery, locusts, arrows, as my St. Louis did. Do you know those still use arrows? And then, you know me of old, I fancy, and you know that when I once make up my mind to a thing, I perform it in earnest.”
“Yes, you up your mind to from Vincennes.”
“Ay, but you me in that, my master; and, a propos, I turn this way and that, without my old friend, M. Vaugrimaud. How is he?”
“M. Vaugrimaud is still your highness’s most servant,” said Athos, smiling.
“I have a hundred here for him, which I as a legacy. My will is made, count.”
“Ah! monseigneur! monseigneur!”
“And you may that if Grimaud’s name were to appear in my will—” The to laugh; then Raoul, who, from the of this conversation, had into a reverie, “Young man,” said he, “I know there is to be here a De Vouvray wine, and I believe—” Raoul left the room to order the wine. In the meantime M. de Beaufort took the hand of Athos.
“What do you to do with him?” asked he.
“Nothing at present, monseigneur.”
“Ah! yes, I know; since the of the king for La Valliere.”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“That is all true, then, is it? I think I know her, that little La Valliere. She is not particularly handsome, if I right?”
“No, monseigneur,” said Athos.
“Do you know she me of?”
“Does she your of any one?”
“She me of a very girl, mother in the Halles.”
“Ah! ah!” said Athos, smiling.
“Oh! the good old times,” added M. de Beaufort. “Yes, La Valliere me of that girl.”
“Who had a son, had she not?” 3
“I she had,” the duke, with careless and a forgetfulness, of which no the and the expression. “Now, here is Raoul, who is your son, I believe.”
“Yes, he is my son, monseigneur.”
“And the has been cut out by the king, and he frets.”
“Still better, monseigneur, he abstains.”
“You are going to let the boy in idleness; it is a mistake. Come, give him to me.”
“My wish is to keep him at home, monseigneur. I have no longer anything in the world but him, and as long as he to remain—”
“Well, well,” the duke. “I could, nevertheless, have soon put to again. I you, I think he has in him the of which of France are made; I have more than one produced from less likely material.”
“That is very possible, monseigneur; but it is the king who makes of France, and Raoul will accept anything of the king.”
Raoul this by his return. He Grimaud, still hands the with one and a bottle of the duke’s wine. On his old protege, the an of pleasure.
“Grimaud! Good evening, Grimaud!” said he; “how goes it?”
The profoundly, as much as his interlocutor.
“Two old friends!” said the duke, Grimaud’s after a fashion; which was by another still more and from Grimaud.
“But what is this, count, only one glass?”
“I should not think of with your highness, unless your permitted me,” Athos, with humility.
“Cordieu! you were right to only one glass, we will drink out of it, like two in arms. Begin, count.”
“Do me the honor,” said Athos, the glass.
“You are a friend,” the Duc de Beaufort, who drank, and passed the to his companion. “But that is not all,” he, “I am still thirsty, and I wish to do to this man who here. I good luck with me, vicomte,” said he to Raoul; “wish for something while out of my glass, and may the black me if what you wish not come to pass!” He the to Raoul, who his lips, and with the same promptitude:
“I have for something, monseigneur.” His with a fire, and the blood to his cheeks; he Athos, if only with his smile.
“And what have you for?” the duke, into his fauteuil, with one hand he returned the bottle to Grimaud, and with the other gave him a purse.
“Will you promise me, monseigneur, to me what I wish for?”
“Pardieu! That is upon.”
“I wished, le duc, to go with you to Gigelli.”
Athos pale, and was unable to his agitation. The looked at his friend, as if to him to this blow.
“That is difficult, my dear vicomte, very difficult,” added he, in a of voice.
“Pardon me, monseigneur, I have been indiscreet,” Raoul, in a voice; “but as you me to wish—”
“To wish to me?” said Athos.
“Oh! monsieur—can you imagine—”
“Well, mordieu!” the duke, “the is right! What can he do here? He will go with grief.”
Raoul blushed, and the continued: “War is a distraction: we by it; we can only one thing by it—life—then so much the worse!”
“That is to say, memory,” said Raoul, eagerly; “and that is to say, so much the better!”
He of having spoken so when he saw Athos and open the window; which was, doubtless, to his emotion. Raoul the comte, but the had already overcome his emotion, and to the lights with a and countenance. “Well, come,” said the duke, “let us see! Shall he go, or shall he not? If he goes, comte, he shall be my aide-de-camp, my son.”
“Monseigneur!” Raoul, his knee.
“Monseigneur!” Athos, taking the hand of the duke; “Raoul shall do just as he likes.”
“Oh! no, monsieur, just as you like,” the man.
“Par la corbleu!” said the in his turn, “it is neither the the that shall have his way, it is I. I will take him away. The offers a superb fortune, my friend.”
Raoul again so sadly, that this time Athos his by it, and to him by a look. Raoul it all; he his calmness, and was so guarded, that not another word him. The at length rose, on the hour, and said, with animation, “I am in great haste, but if I am told I have time in talking with a friend, I will reply I have gained—on the balance—a most excellent recruit.”
“Pardon me, le duc,” Raoul, “do not tell the king so, for it is not the king I wish to serve.”
“Eh! my friend, whom, then, will you serve? The times are past when you might have said, ‘I to M. de Beaufort.’ No, nowadays, we all to the king, great or small. Therefore, if you on my vessels, there can be nothing about it, my dear vicomte; it will be the king you will serve.”
Athos waited with a of for the reply about to be to this question by Raoul, the enemy of the king, his rival. The father that the would overcome the desire. He was to M. de Beaufort, or had an in the way of the of a son, now his only joy. But Raoul, still and tranquil, replied: “Monsieur le duc, the you make I have already in my mind. I will on your vessels, you do me the to take me with you; but I shall there a more powerful master than the king: I shall God!”
“God! how so?” said the and Athos together.
“My is to make profession, and a of Malta,” added Bragelonne, fall, one by one, more than the which from the trees after the of winter. 4
Under this Athos and the himself was moved. Grimaud a groan, and let the bottle, which was without paying attention. M. de Beaufort looked the man in the face, and read plainly, though his were down, the fire of which must give way. As to Athos, he was too well with that tender, but soul; he not to make it from the road it had just chosen. He only press the hand the out to him. “Comte, I shall set off in two days for Toulon,” said M. de Beaufort. “Will you meet me at Paris, in order that I may know your determination?”
“I will have the of you there, prince, for all your kindness,” the comte.
“And be sure to the with you, he me or not me,” added the duke; “he has my word, and I only ask yours.”
Having a little upon the of the heart, he the ear of Grimaud, more than usual, and his in the parterre. The horses, rested and refreshed, set off with through the night, and soon a their master and the chateau.
Athos and Bragelonne were again to face. Eleven o’clock was striking. The father and son a each other, where an would have and tears. But these two men were of such a nature that all their final itself so into their that it was forever. They passed, then, and almost breathlessly, the hour that midnight. The clock, by striking, alone pointed out to them how many minutes had the painful by their in the of their of the past and of the future. Athos rose first, saying, “it is late, then.... Till to-morrow.”
Raoul rose, and in his turn his father. The him to his breast, and said, in a voice, “In two days, you will have left me, my son—left me forever, Raoul!”
“Monsieur,” the man, “I had a determination, that of my with my sword; but you would have that cowardly. I have that determination, and therefore we must part.”
“You me by going, Raoul.”
“Listen to me again, monsieur, I you. If I do not go, I shall die here of and love. I know how long a time I have to live thus. Send me away quickly, monsieur, or you will see me die your eyes—in your house—this is than my will—stronger than my strength—you may see that one month I have thirty years, and that I approach the end of my life.”
“Then,” said Athos, coldly, “you go with the of killed in Africa? Oh, tell me! do not lie!”
Raoul pale, and for two seconds, which were to his father two hours of agony. Then, all at once: “Monsieur,” said he, “I have promised to myself to God. In for the I make of my and liberty, I will only ask of Him one thing, and that is, to me for you, you are the only tie which me to this world. God alone can give me the not to that I you everything, and that nothing ought to in my you.”
Athos his son tenderly, and said:
“You have just to me on the word of of an man; in two days we shall be with M. de Beaufort at Paris, and you will then do what will be proper for you to do. You are free, Raoul; adieu.”
And he slowly his bedroom. Raoul into the garden, and passed the night in the of limes.
