The Man in the Iron Mask
The Bulletin.
The Duc de Beaufort to Athos. The for the only the dead. God had the address.
“MY DEAR COMTE,” the prince, in his large, school-boy’s hand,—“a great has us a great triumph. The king one of the of soldiers. I a friend. You M. de Bragelonne. He has died gloriously, so that I have not the to as I wish. Receive my sad compliments, my dear comte. Heaven according to the of our hearts. This is an one, but not above your courage. Your good friend,
“LE DUC DE BEAUFORT.”
The a relation by one of the prince’s secretaries. It was the most recital, and the most true, of that which two existences. D’Artagnan, to emotions, and with a against tenderness, not help starting on reading the name of Raoul, the name of that boy who had a now—like his father.
“In the morning,” said the prince’s secretary, “monseigneur the attack. Normandy and Picardy had taken positions in the by the of the mountain, upon the of which were the of Gigelli.
“The opened the action; the full of resolution; the with elevated, the musket-bearers with their ready. The the and movements of the troops, so as to be able to them with a reserve. With were the captains and his aides-de-camp. M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne had orders not to his highness. In the meantime the enemy’s cannon, which at with little success against the masses, to their fire, and the balls, directed, killed men near the prince. The in column, and, against the ramparts, were handled. There was a of in our troops, who themselves ill-seconded by the artillery. In fact, the which had been the had but a weak and aim, on account of their position. The direction of the the of the as well as their range.
“Monseigneur, the of this position on the artillery, the in the little road to a regular fire against the place. M. de Bragelonne offered himself at once to this order. But to in the vicomte’s request. Monseigneur was right, for he loved and to the nobleman. He was right, and the event took upon itself to his and refusal; for had the with the message by M. de Bragelonne the seashore, when two from long from the enemy’s ranks and him low. The fell, the with his blood; which, M. de Bragelonne at monseigneur, who said to him, ‘You see, vicomte, I have saved your life. Report that, some day, to M. le Comte de la Fere, in order that, learning it from you, he may thank me.’ The sadly, and to the duke, ‘It is true, monseigneur, that but for your I should have been killed, where the has fallen, and should be at rest.’ M. de Bragelonne this reply in such a that answered him warmly, ‘Vrai Dieu! Young man, one would say that your mouth for death; but, by the of Henry IV., I have promised your father to you alive; and, the Lord, I to keep my word.’
“Monseigneur de Bragelonne colored, and replied, in a voice, ‘Monseigneur, me, I you. I have always had a to meet good opportunities; and it is so to ourselves our general, particularly when that is M. le Duc de Beaufort.’
“Monseigneur was a little by this; and, to the officers who him, gave different orders. The of the two got near to the and to their grenades, which had but small effect. In the meanwhile, M. d’Estrees, who the fleet, having the attempt of the to approach the vessels, that he must act without orders, and opened fire. Then the Arabs, themselves by the from the fleet, and the and the of their walls, the most cries. Their the at a gallop, over their saddles, and full upon the of infantry, which, their pikes, stopped this assault. Repulsed by the of the battalion, the Arabs themselves with the etat-major, which was not on its at that moment.
“The was great; his sword; his and people him; the officers of the in with the Arabs. It was then M. de Bragelonne was able to satisfy the he had so from the of the action. He near the with the of a Roman, and killed three Arabs with his small sword. But it was that his did not from that of so natural to all who fight. It was impetuous, affected, forced; he to glut, himself with and carnage. He himself to such a that called to him to stop. He must have the voice of monseigneur, we who were close to him it. He did not, however, stop, but his to the intrenchments. As M. de Bragelonne was a well-disciplined officer, this to the orders of very much everybody, and M. de Beaufort his earnestness, crying, ‘Stop, Bragelonne! Where are you going? Stop,’ monseigneur, ‘I you!’
“We all, the of M. le duc, we all our hands. We that the would turn bridle; but M. de Bragelonne to the palisades.
“‘Stop, Bragelonne!’ the prince, in a very loud voice, ‘stop! in the name of your father!’
“At these M. de Bragelonne round; his a grief, but he did not stop; we then that his must have away with him. When M. le saw to that the was no longer master of his horse, and had him the grenadiers, his cried, ‘Musketeers, kill his horse! A hundred for the man who kills his horse!’ But who to the without at least his rider? No one the attempt. At length one presented himself; he was a sharp-shooter of the of Picardy, named Luzerne, who took at the animal, fired, and him in the quarters, for we saw the blood the of the horse. Instead of falling, the was irritated, and him on more than ever. Every Picard who saw this man on to meet death, in the manner, ‘Throw off, le vicomte!—off!—off! off!’ M. de Bragelonne was an officer much in the army. Already had the pistol-shot of the ramparts, when a was upon him that him in fire and smoke. We of him; the dispersed; he was on foot, upright; his was killed.
“The was to by the Arabs, but he them a negative with his head, and to the palisades. This was a imprudence. Nevertheless the entire army was pleased that he would not retreat, since ill-chance had him so near. He a further, and the two their hands. It was at this moment the second the walls, and the Vicomte de Bragelonne again in the smoke; but this time the in vain; we no longer saw him standing. He was down, with his than his legs, among the bushes, and the Arabs to think of their to come and cut off his or take his body—as is the with the infidels. But Monseigneur le Duc de Beaufort had all this with his eyes, and the sad from him many painful sighs. He then aloud, the Arabs like white among the mastic-trees, ‘Grenadiers! lancers! will you let them take that body?’
“Saying these and his sword, he himself the enemy. The regiments, in his steps, ran in their turn, as terrible as those of the Arabs were wild.
“The over the of M. de Bragelonne, and with such was it that a hundred and sixty Arabs were left upon the field, by the of at least fifty of our troops. It was a from Normandy who took the of the on his and it to the lines. The was, however, pursued, the took the with them, and the enemy’s were destroyed. At three o’clock the fire of the Arabs ceased; the hand-to-hand two hours; it was a massacre. At five o’clock we were at all points; the enemy had his positions, and M. le ordered the white flag to be planted on the of the little mountain. It was then we had time to think of M. de Bragelonne, who had eight large in his body, through which almost all his blood had away. Still, however, he had breathed, which to monseigneur, who on being present at the of the and the of the surgeons. There were two among them who M. de Bragelonne would live. Monseigneur his arms around their necks, and promised them a thousand each if they save him.
“The these transports of joy, and he was in despair, or he much from his wounds, he by his a contradiction, which gave to reflection, particularly in one of the when he had what follows. The third was the of Sylvain de Saint-Cosme, the most learned of them all. He the in his turn, and said nothing. M. de Bragelonne his upon the surgeon, and to his every movement. The latter, upon being questioned by monseigneur, that he saw three out of eight, but so was the of the wounded, so rich was he in youth, and so was the of God, that M. de Bragelonne might recover, particularly if he did not move in the manner. Frere Sylvain added, his assistants, ‘Above everything, do not allow him to move, a finger, or you will kill him;’ and we all left the in very low spirits. That I have mentioned, on the tent, he a and sad over the of M. de Bragelonne when the said to him, in a cheerful, voice, ‘We will save you, vicomte, we will save you yet.’
“In the evening, when it was the had taken some repose, one of the entered his tent, but out again immediately, loud cries. We all ran up in disorder, M. le with us, and the pointed to the of M. de Bragelonne upon the ground, at the of his bed, in the of his blood. It appeared that he had some convulsion, some delirium, and that he had fallen; that the had his end, according to the of Frere Sylvain. We the vicomte; he was cold and dead. He a lock of in his right hand, and that hand was pressed upon his heart.”
Then the of the expedition, and of the victory over the Arabs. D’Artagnan stopped at the account of the death of Raoul. “Oh!” he, “unhappy boy! a suicide!” And his the of the chateau, in which Athos slept in sleep, “They their with each other,” said he, in a low voice; “now I them to be happy; they must be reunited.” And he returned through the with slow and steps. All the village—all the neighborhood—were with neighbors to each other the catastrophe, and making for the funeral.
