The Man in the Iron Mask
The Death of a Titan.
At the moment when Porthos, more to the than these men, from open daylight, was looking him to see if through this midnight Aramis were not making him some signal, he his arm touched, and a voice low as a in his ear, “Come.”
“Oh!” said Porthos.
“Hush!” said Aramis, if possible, yet more softly.
And the noise of the third brigade, which to advance, the of the still left alive, the of the dying, Aramis and Porthos along the of the cavern. Aramis Porthos into the last but one compartment, and him, in a of the wall, a of from seventy to eighty pounds, to which he had just a fuse. “My friend,” said he to Porthos, “you will take this barrel, the match of which I am going to set fire to, and it our enemies; can you do so?”
“Parbleu!” Porthos; and he the with one hand. “Light it!”
“Stop,” said Aramis, “till they are all together, and then, my Jupiter, your among them.”
“Light it,” Porthos.
“On my part,” Aramis, “I will join our Bretons, and help them to the to the sea. I will wait for you on the shore; it strongly, and to us.”
“Light it,” said Porthos, a third time.
“But do you me?”
“Parbleu!” said Porthos again, with that he did not attempt to restrain, “when a thing is to me I it; begone, and give me the light.”
Aramis gave the match to Porthos, who out his arm to him, his hands being engaged. Aramis pressed the arm of Porthos with his hands, and to the of the where the three him.
Porthos, left alone, the to the match. The spark—a spark, of conflagration—shone in the like a glow-worm, then was against the match which it set fire to, Porthos the with his breath. The was a little dispersed, and by the light of the match objects might, for two seconds, be distinguished. It was a but spectacle, that of this giant, pale, bloody, his by the fire of the match in darkness! The soldiers saw him, they saw the he in his hand—they at once what was going to happen. Then, these men, already with at the of what had been accomplished, with terror at of what was about to be accomplished, gave out a of agony. Some to fly, but they the third brigade, which their passage; others took and to fire their muskets; others upon their knees. Two or three officers out to Porthos to promise him his if he would their lives. The of the third his men to fire; but the had them their companions, who as a for Porthos. We have said that the light produced by the and the match did not last more than two seconds; but these two this is what it illumined: in the place, the giant, in the darkness; then, at ten off, a of bodies, crushed, mutilated, in the of which some still in the last agony, the as a last the of some old in the night. Every of Porthos, thus the match, sent this of a aura, with of purple. In to this group about the grotto, as the of death or had them, to be making of their wounds. Above ground, in of blood, rose, and sparkling, the short, thick of the cavern, of which the marked out the particles. And all this was by the light of a match to a of powder, that is to say, a which, a light on the past, death to come.
As I have said, this did not last above two seconds. During this space of time an officer of the third got together eight men with muskets, and, through an opening, ordered them to fire upon Porthos. But they who the order to fire so that three by the discharge, and the five on to the vault, the ground, or the of the cavern.
A of to this volley; then the arm of the round; then was through the air, like a star, the train of fire. The barrel, a of thirty feet, the of bodies, and a group of soldiers, who themselves on their faces. The officer had the train in the air; he to himself upon the and tear out the match it the it contained. Useless! The air had the to the more active; the match, which at might have five minutes, was in thirty seconds, and the work exploded. Furious of and nitre, of fire which every object, the terrible of the explosion, this is what the second which in that of horrors. The like of the axe. A of fire, smoke, and from the middle of the grotto, as it mounted. The large of and upon the sand, and the itself, an of pain when from its hard bed, the with its atoms. Shrieks, imprecations, life, bodies—all were in one crash.
The three one into which back, in the order of their weight, every vegetable, mineral, or fragment. Then the and came in turn, like a and over the scene. And now, in this tomb, this volcano, the king’s with their with silver. Seek the officers, in gold, for the arms upon which they for their defense. One single man has of all of those a more confused, more shapeless, more terrible than the which the of the world. There nothing of the three compartments—nothing by which God have His handiwork. As for Porthos, after having the of his enemies, he had fled, as Aramis had him to do, and had the last compartment, into which air, light, and through the opening. Scarcely had he the which the third from the fourth when he at a hundred from him the dancing on the waves. There were his friends, there liberty, there life and victory. Six more of his strides, and he would be out of the vault; out of the vault! a dozen of his and he would the canoe. Suddenly he his give way; his powerless, his to him.
“Oh! oh!” he, “there is my me again! I can walk no further! What is this?”
Aramis him through the opening, and unable to what him to stop thus—“Come on, Porthos! come on,” he cried; “come quickly!”
“Oh!” the giant, making an that every of his body—“oh! but I cannot.” While saying these words, he upon his knees, but with his hands he to the rocks, and himself up again.
“Quick! quick!” Aramis, the shore, as if to Porthos him with his arms.
“Here I am,” Porthos, all his to make one step more.
“In the name of Heaven! Porthos, make haste! the will up!”
“Make haste, monseigneur!” the Bretons to Porthos, who was as in a dream.
But there was no time; the thundered, earth gaped, the which through the the sky; the sea as though by the blast of which from the as if from the of some chimera; the took the out twenty toises; the solid to their base, and like the operation of the wedge; a of the was up heaven, as if it had been of cardboard; the green and and and black of and an a of smoke; then oscillated, declined, and the of which the of the had not been able to from the of ages; they to each other like and old men, then themselves, in their tomb.
This to Porthos the that he had lost; he arose, a among giants. But at the moment he was the of phantoms, these latter, which were no longer supported by the links, to roll and our Titan, who looked as if from which he had just been launching. Porthos the very earth his jelly-tremulous. He hands to the rocks. A was by each of his arms. He his head, and a third his shoulders. For an the power of Porthos about to fail him, but this new Hercules all his force, and the two of the prison in which he was slowly and gave him place. For an he appeared, in this of granite, like the of chaos, but in pushing the rocks, he his point of support, for the which upon his shoulders, and the boulder, pressing upon him with all its weight, the upon his knees. The rocks, for an pushed back, together again, and added their weight to the which would have been to ten men. The hero without a groan—he while Aramis with of and hope, for, thanks to the powerful of his hands, for an he that, like Enceladus, he would succeed in off the load. But by Aramis the sink; the hands, for an instant, the arms for a last effort, gave way, the sank, and torn, and the to collapse.
“Porthos! Porthos!” Aramis, his hair. “Porthos! where are you? Speak!”
“Here, here,” Porthos, with a voice weaker, “patience! patience!”
Scarcely had he these words, when the of the the weight; the down, pressed by those others which in from the sides, and, as it were, up Porthos in a of stones. On the voice of his friend, Aramis had to land. Two of the Bretons him, with each a in his hand—one being to take of the bark. The of the them the ruins. Aramis, animated, active and as at twenty, the mass, and with his hands, as those of a woman, by a of the corner-stone of this great grave. Then he a glimpse, through the of that charnel-house, of the still of his friend, to the of the a respiration. The two men came up, their iron levers, their strength, not to it, but it. All was useless. They gave way with of grief, and the voice of Porthos, them themselves in a struggle, in an almost those which came to his with the last respiration, “Too heavy!”
After which his and closed, his pale, the hands whitened, and the down, his last sigh. With him the rock, which, in his he had still up. The three men the levers, which rolled upon the stone. Then, breathless, pale, his with sweat, Aramis listened, his oppressed, his to break.
Nothing more. The slept the sleep, in the which God had about him to his measure.
