“Saying these words and waving his sword, he himself rode towards the enemy. The regiments, rushing in his steps, ran in their turn, uttering cries as terrible as those of the Arabs were wild.
“The combat began over the body of M. de Bragelonne; and with such inveteracy was it fought that a hundred and sixty Arabs were left upon the field by the side of at least fifty of our troops. It was a lieutenant from Normandy who took the body of the viscount on his shoulders and carried it back to the lines. The advantage was, however, pursued; the regiments took the reserve with them; and the enemy’s palisades were destroyed. At three o’clock the fire of the Arabs ceased. The hand to hand fight lasted two hours; that was a massacre. At five o’clock we were victorious on all the points; the enemy had abandoned his positions, and Monsieur the Duke had ordered the white flag to be planted upon the culminating point of the little mountain. It was then we had time to think of M. de Bragelonne, who had eight large wounds through his body, by which almost all his blood had escaped. Still, however, he breathed, which afforded inexpressible joy to Monseigneur, who insisted upon being present at the first dressing of the wounds and at the consultation of the surgeons. There were two among them who declared M. de Bragelonne would live. Monseigneur threw his arms round their necks, and promised them a thousand louis each if they could save him.
“The viscount heard these transports of joy, and whether he was in despair, or whether he suffered much from his wounds, he expressed by his countenance a contradiction which gave rise to reflection, particularly in one of the secretaries when he had heard what follows. The third surgeon was Frere Sylvain de Saint-Cosme, the most learned of ours. He probed the wounds in his turn, and said nothing. M. de Bragelonne fixed his eyes steadily upon the skillful surgeon, and seemed to interrogate his every movement. The latter, upon being questioned by Monseigneur, replied that he saw plainly three mortal wounds out of eight, but so strong was the constitution of the wounded, so rich was he in youth, and so merciful was the goodness of God that perhaps M. de Bragelonne might recover, particularly if he did not move in the slightest manner. Frere Sylvain added, turning towards his assistants, ‘Above everything, do not allow him to move even a finger, or you will kill him’; and we all left the tent in very low spirits. That secretary I have mentioned, on leaving the tent, thought he perceived a faint and sad smile glide over the lips of M. de Bragelonne when the duke said to him in a cheerful, kind voice, ‘We shall save you, Viscount, we shall save you!’
“In the evening, when it was believed the wounded young man had taken some repose, one of the assistants entered his tent, but rushed immediately out again, uttering loud cries. We all ran up in disorder, Monsieur the Duke with us; and the assistant pointed to the body of M. de Bragelonne upon the ground at the foot of his bed, bathed in the remainder of his blood. It appeared that he had had some convulsion, some febrile movement, and that he had fallen; that the fall had accelerated his end, according to the prediction of Frere Sylvain. We raised the viscount; he was cold and dead. He held a lock of fair hair in his right hand, and that hand was pressed tightly upon his heart.”
Then followed the details of the expedition, and of the victory obtained over the Arabs. D’Artagnan stopped at the account of the death of poor Raoul. “Oh,” murmured he, “unhappy boy! a suicide!’ And turning his eyes towards the chamber of the chateau in which Athos slept in eternal sleep, “They kept their promise to each other,” said he, in a low voice. “Now I believe them to be happy; they must be reunited”; and he returned through the parterre with slow and melancholy steps. All the village, all the neighborhood, was filled with grieving neighbors relating to one another the double catastrophe, and making preparations for the funeral.