At daybreak, d’Artagnan, who had wandered about the lower hall, biting his fingers to stifle his sighs, went up once more; and watching the moment when Grimaud turned his head towards him, he made him a sign to come to him, which the faithful servant obeyed without making more noise than a shadow. D’Artagnan went down again, followed by Grimaud; and when he had gained the vestibule, taking the old man’s hands, “Grimaud,” said he, “I have seen how the father died; now let me know how the son died.”
Grimaud drew from his breast a large letter, upon the envelope of which was traced the address of Athos. D’Artagnan recognized the writing of M. de Beaufort, broke the seal, and began to read, walking about in the first blue rays of day in the dark alley of old limes, marked by the still visible footsteps of the count who had just died.
Chapter LXXXVII: The Bulletin
THE Duc de Beaufort wrote to Athos. The letter destined for the living only reached the dead. God had changed the address.
“MY DEAR COUNT,” wrote the Prince in his large, bad, schoolboy’s hand,- “a great misfortune has struck us amid a great triumph. The King loses one of the bravest of soldiers; I lose a friend; you lose M. de Bragelonne.
“He has died gloriously, and so gloriously that I have not the strength to weep as I could wish.
“Receive my sad compliments, my dear Count. Heaven distributes trials according to the greatness of our hearts. This trial is very great, but not above your courage.
“Your good friend,
“LE DUC DE BEAUFORT.”
The letter contained a relation written by one of the Prince’s secretaries. It was the most touching recital, and the most true, of that dismal episode which destroyed two lives. D’Artagnan, accustomed to battle emotions, and with a heart armed against tenderness, could not help starting on reading the name of Raoul,- the name of that beloved boy who had become, as his father had, a shade.
“In the morning,” said the Prince’s secretary, “Monseigneur commanded the attack. Normandy and Picardy had taken position in the gray rocks dominated by the heights of the mountains, upon the declivity of which were raised the bastions of Djidgelli.
“The cannon beginning to fire opened the action; the regiments marched full of resolution; the pikemen had their pikes elevated; the bearers of muskets had their weapons ready. The Prince followed attentively the march and movements of the troops, so as to be able to sustain them with a strong reserve. With Monseigneur were the oldest captains and his aides-decamp. M. le Vicomte de Bragelonne had received orders not to leave his Highness. In the mean time the enemy’s cannon, which at first had thundered with little success against the masses, had regulated its fire; and the balls, better directed, had killed several men near the Prince. The regiments formed in column, and advancing against the ramparts were rather roughly handled. There was a hesitation in our troops, who found themselves ill seconded by the artillery. In fact, the batteries which had been established the evening before had but a weak and uncertain aim, on account of their position. The direction from below to above lessened the accuracy of the shots as well as their range.
“Monseigneur, comprehending the bad effect of this position of the siege artillery, commanded the frigates moored in the little roadstead to begin a regular fire against the place. M. de Bragelonne offered himself at once to carry this order; but Monseigneur refused to acquiesce in the viscount’s request. Monseigneur was right, for he loved and wished to spare the young nobleman. He was quite right, and the event justified his foresight and refusal,- for scarcely had the sergeant charged with the message solicited by M. de Bragelonne gained the sea-shore, when two shots from long carbines issued from the enemy’s ranks and laid him low. The sergeant fell, dyeing the sand with his blood; observing which, M. de Bragelonne smiled at Monseigneur, who said to him, ‘You see, Viscount, 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 young nobleman smiled sadly, and replied to the duke, ‘It is true, Monseigneur, that but for your kindness I should have been killed down there where the poor sergeant has fallen, and should be at rest.’ M. de Bragelonne made this reply in such a tone that Monseigneur answered him warmly: ‘Good God! young man, one would say that your mouth waters for death; but, by the soul of Henry IV, I have promised your father to bring you back alive; and please the Lord, I will keep my word.’