A long silence ensued, which gave, for a moment, repose to the troubled imagination of Athos; and as he felt that that which he saw was not terminated, he applied his observation more attentively to the strange spectacle which his imagination had presented. This spectacle was soon continued for him. A mild and pale moon arose behind the declivities of the coast, and streaking at first the undulating ripples of the sea, which appeared to have calmed after the roarings it had sent forth during the vision of Athos,- the moon, we say, shed its diamonds and opals upon the briers and bushes of the hill. The gray rocks, like so many silent and attentive phantoms, appeared to raise their verdant heads to examine likewise the field of battle by the light of the moon; and Athos perceived that that field, entirely empty during the combat, was now strewn with fallen bodies.
An inexpressible shudder of fear and horror seized the soul of Athos when he recognized the white and blue uniform of the soldiers of Picardy, with their long pikes and blue handles, and their muskets marked with the fleur-de-lis on the butts; when he saw all the gaping, cold wounds looking up to the azure heavens as if to demand back of them the souls to which they had opened a passage; when he saw the slaughtered horses, stiff, with their tongues hanging out at one side of their mouths, sleeping in the icy blood pooled around them, staining their furniture and their manes; when he saw the white horse of M. de Beaufort, with his head beaten to pieces, in the first ranks of the dead. Athos passed a cold hand over his brow, which he was astonished not to find burning. He was convinced by this touch that he was present as a spectator, without fever, on the day after a battle fought upon the shores of Djidgelli by the army of the expedition which he had seen leave the coasts of France and disappear in the horizon, and of which he had saluted with thought and gesture the last cannon-shot fired by the duke as a signal of farewell to his country.
Who can paint the mortal agony with which his soul followed, like a vigilant eye, the trace of those dead bodies, and examined them, one after the other, to see if Raoul slept among them? Who can express the intoxication of joy with which Athos bowed before God, and gave thanks for not having seen him he sought with so much fear among the dead? In fact, fallen dead in their ranks, stiff, icy, all these dead, easy to be recognized, seemed to turn with kindness and respect towards the Comte de la Fere, to be the better seen by him during his funereal inspection. But yet he was astonished while viewing all these bodies, not to perceive the survivors. To such a point did the illusion extend, that this vision was for the father a real voyage made by him into Africa, to obtain more exact information respecting his son.
Fatigued, therefore, with having traversed seas and continents, he sought repose under one of the tents sheltered behind a rock, on the top of which floated the white fleurdelise pennon. He looked for a soldier to conduct him to the tent of M. de Beaufort. Then, while his eye was wandering over the plain, turning in all directions, he saw a white form appear behind the resinous myrtles. This figure was clothed in the costume of an officer; it held in its hand a broken sword; it advanced slowly towards Athos, who, stopping short and fixing his eyes upon it, neither spoke nor moved, but wished to open his arms, because in this silent and pale officer he had just recognized Raoul. The count attempted to utter a cry; but it remained stifled in his throat. Raoul with a gesture directed him to be silent, placing his finger on his lips and drawing back by degrees, without Athos being able to see any motion of his legs. The count, more pale than Raoul, more trembling, followed his son, traversing painfully briers and bushes, stones and ditches, Raoul appearing not to touch the earth, and no obstacle impeding the lightness of his march. The count, whom the inequalities of the path fatigued, soon stopped exhausted. Raoul still continued to beckon him to follow him. The tender father, to whom love restored strength, made a last effort and climbed the mountain after the young man, who drew him onward by his gesture and his smile.