 CHAPTER 47 OF SIMPSONVILLE, SOUTH CAROLINA. THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK, BY ALEXANDRO DUMAS. CHAPTER 47. THE GRATTO OF LOCMARIA. THE CAVERN OF LOCMARIA WAS SUFFICIENTLY DISTANT FROM THE MOLE TO RENDER IT NECESSARY FOR OUR FRIENDS TO HUSBAND THEIR STRENGTH IN ORDER TO REACH IT. THIS NIGHT WAS ADVANCING, MIDNIGHT HAD STRUCK AT THE FORT. Porthos and Aramis were loaded with money and arms. They walked then across the heath which stretched between the mole and the cavern, listening to every noise, in order better to avoid an ambush. From time to time, on the road which they had carefully left on their left, past fugitives coming from the interior at the news of the landing of the royal troops, Aramis and Porthos concealed behind some projecting mass of rock, collected the words that escaped from the poor people, who fled, trembling, carrying with them their most valuable effects, and tried, whilst listening to their complaints, to gather something from them for their own interest. At length, after a rapid race, frequently interrupted by prudent stoppages, they reached the deep grottoes in which the prophetic bishop of Vaan had taken care to have secreted a bark capable of keeping the sea at this fine season. "'My good friend,' said Porthos, panting vigorously, "'we have arrived, it seems. But I thought you spoke of three men, three servants, who were to accompany us. I don't see them. Where are they?' "'Why should you see them, Porthos?' replied Aramis. "'They are certainly waiting for us in the cavern, and no doubt are resting, having accomplished their rough and difficult task.' Aramis stopped Porthos, who was preparing to enter the cavern. "'Will you allow me, my friend?' said he to the giant, to pass in first. I know the signal I have given to these men, who, not hearing it, would be very likely to fire upon you or slash away with their knives in the dark. "'Go on, then, Aramis. Go on. Go first. You impersonate wisdom in foresight. Go. Ah! There is that fatigue again of which I spoke to you. It has just seized me afresh.' Aramis left Porthos sitting at the entrance of the grotto, and bowing his head he penetrated into the interior of the cavern, imitating the cry of the owl. A little plaintive cooing, a scarcely distinct echo, replied from the depths of the cave. Aramis pursued his way cautiously, and soon was stopped by the same kind of cry as he had first uttered, within ten paces of him. "'Are you there, Yves?' said the bishop. "'Yes, Monsignor. Go in is here likewise. His son accompanies us. That is well. Are all things ready?' "'Yes, Monsignor. Go to the entrance of the grotto, my good Yves, and you will there find the Signor de Pierre Fond, who is resting after the fatigue of our journey. And if he should happen not to be able to walk, lift him up and bring him hither to me.' The three men obeyed, but the recommendation given to his servants was superfluous. Porthos, refreshed, had already commenced the descent, and his heavy step resounded amongst the cavities, formed and supported by columns of porphyry and granite. As soon as the Signor de Brassiere had rejoined the bishop, the Bretons lighted a lantern with which they were furnished, and Porthos assured his friend that he felt as strong again as ever. "'Let us inspect the boat,' said Hermes, and satisfy ourselves at once what it will hold.' "'Do not go too near with the light,' said the patron Yves. "'For as you desired me, Monsignor, I have placed under the bench of the poop, in the coffer you know of, the barrel of powder, and the musket-charges that you sent me from the fort.' "'Very well,' said Hermes, and taking the lantern himself, he examined minutely all parts of the canoe, with the precautions of a man who is neither timid nor ignorant in the face of danger. The canoe was long, light, drawing little water, thin of keel. In short, one of those that have always been so aptly built at Belle Eel. A little high in its sides, solid upon the water, very manageable, furnished with planks which, in uncertain weather, formed a sort of deck over which the waves might glide, so as to protect the rowers. In two well-closed coffers, placed beneath the benches of the prow and the poop, Hermes found bread, biscuit, dried fruits, a quarter of bacon, a good provision of water in leathern bottles, the whole forming rations sufficient for people who did not mean to quit the coast, and would be able to revictual if necessity commanded. The arms, eight muskets, and as many horse-pistols, were in good condition and all loaded. There were additional oars in case of accident, and that little sale called Trinque, which assists the speed of the canoe at the same time the boatman row, and is so useful when the breeze is slack. When Hermes had seen to all these things, and appeared satisfied with the results of his inspection, Let us consult Porthos, said he, to know if we must endeavor to get the boat out by the unknown extremity of the grotto, following the descent and the shade of the cabin, or whether it be better, in the open air, to make it slide upon its rollers through the bushes, following the road of the little beach, which is but twenty feet high, and gives at high tide three or four fathoms of good water upon a sound bottom. It must be, as you please, Monsignor, replied the skipper Eve, respectfully. But I don't believe that by the slope of the cabin, and in the dark in which we shall be obliged to maneuver our boat, the road will be so convenient as the open air. I know the beach well, and can certify that it is as smooth as a grass-plot in a garden. The interior of the grotto, on the contrary, is rough, without reckoning Monsignor, that at its extremity we shall come to the trench which leads into the sea, and perhaps the canoe will not pass down it. I have made my calculation, said the bishop, and I am certain it will pass. So be it. I wish it may, Monsignor, continued Eve. But your highness knows very well that to make it reach the extremity of the trench, there is an enormous stone to be lifted, that under which the fox always passes, and which closes the trench like a door. It can be raised, said Porthos. That is nothing. Oh, I know that Monsignor has the strength of ten men, replied Eve, but that is giving him a great deal of trouble. I think the skipper may be right, said Eremus. Let us try the open air passage. The more so, Monsignor, continued the fisherman, that we should not be able to embark before day. It will require so much labour, and that as soon as daylight appears, a good vedette placed outside the grotto would be necessary, indispensable even, to watch the manoeuvres of the lighters or cruisers that are on the lookout for us. Yes, yes, Eve, your reasons are good. We will go by the beach. And the three robust Bretons went to the boat, and were beginning to place their rollers underneath it to put it in motion, when the distant barking of dogs was heard, proceeding from the interior of the island. Eremus darted out of the grotto, followed by Porthos. One just tinted with purple and white the waves and plain, through the dim light, melancholy fir trees waved their tender branches over the pebbles, and long flights of crows were skimming with their black wings the shimmering fields of buckwheat. In a quarter of an hour it would be clear daylight. The wakened birds announced it to all nature. The barkings which had been heard, which had stopped the three fishermen engaged in moving the boat, and had brought Eremus and Porthos out of the cavern, now seemed to come from a deep gorge within about a league of the grotto. It is a pack of hounds, said Porthos. The dogs are on ascent. Who can be haunting at such a moment as this? said Eremus. And this way particularly, continued Porthos, where they might expect the army of the royalists. The noise comes nearer. Yes, you are right, Porthos, the dogs are on ascent. But Eve, cried Eremus, come here, come here. Eve ran toward him, letting fall the cylinder which he was about to place under the boat when the bishop's call interrupted him. What is the meaning of this hunt, Skipper? said Porthos. Eh? Monsignor, I cannot understand it, replied the Breton. It is not at such a moment that the senior Delac Maria would hunt. No, and yet the dogs. Unless they have escaped from the kennel. No, said Gowen, they are not the senior Delac Maria's hounds. In common prudence, said Eremus, let us go back into the grotto. The voices evidently draw nearer. We shall soon know what we have to trust to. They re-entered, but had scarcely proceeded a hundred steps in the darkness when a noise like the horse-sci of a creature in distress resounded through the cavern, and breathless, rapid, terrified, a fox passed like a flash of lightning before the fugitives, leaped over the boat, and disappeared, leaving behind its sour scent, which was perceptible for several seconds under the low vaults of the cave. The fox, cried the Breton's with a glad surprise of borne hunters, accursed mischance, cried the bishop, our retreat has discovered. How so, said Porthos, are you afraid of a fox? Eh, my friend, what do you mean by that? Why do you specify the fox? It is not the fox alone. Padilla! But don't you know, Porthos, that after the foxes come hounds, and after hounds men? Porthos hung his head. As though to confirm the words of Eremus, they heard the yelping-pack approach with frightful swiftness upon the trail. Six foxhounds burst at once upon the little heath, with mingling yelps of triumph. There are the dogs, plain enough, said Eremus, posted on the lookout behind a chink in the rocks. Now, who are the huntsmen? If it is the senior de la Marias, replied the sailor, he will leave the dogs to hunt the grotto, for he knows them, and will not enter in himself, being quite sure that the fox will come out the other side. It is there he will wait for him. It is not the senior de la Marias who is hunting, replied Eremus, turning pale in spite of his efforts to maintain a placid countenance. Who is it then? said Porthos. Look! Porthos applied his eye to the slit, and saw at the summit of a hillock a dozen horsemen urging on their horses in the track of the dogs, shouting, Tyo! Tyo! The guards, said he. Yes, my friend, the king's guards. The king's guards? Do you say, Monsignor? cried the Bretons, growing pale in turn, with Biscarote at their head, mounted upon my grey horse. Continued Eremus. The hounds at the same moment rushed into the grotto like an avalanche, and the depths of the cavern were filled with their deafening cries. Ah, the devil! said Eremus, resuming all his coolness at the sight of this certain inevitable danger. I am perfectly satisfied we are lost, but we have at least one chance left. If the guards who follow their hounds happen to discover there is an issue to the grotto, there is no help for us, for on entering they must see both ourselves and our boat. The dogs must not go out of the cavern. Their masters must not header. Not as clear, said Porthos. You understand, added Eremus, with the rapid precision of command. There are six dogs that will be forced to stop at the great stone under which the fox has glided, but at the too narrow opening of which they must be themselves stopped and killed. The Bretons sprang forward, knife in hand, and a few minutes there was a lamentable concert of angry barks and mortal howls, and then silence. That's well, said Eremus, coolly. Now for the masters. What is to be done with them, said Porthos. Wait their arrival, conceal ourselves, and kill them. Kill them, replied Porthos. There are sixteen, said Eremus, at least at present. And well armed, added Porthos, with a smile of consolation. It will last about ten minutes, said Eremus, to work. And with a resolute air he took up a musket and placed a hunting knife between his teeth. Eve, go in and his son, continued Eremus, will pass the muskets to us. You, Porthos, will fire when they are close. We shall have brought down, at the lowest computation, eight, before the others are aware of anything. That is certain. Then all, there are five of us, will dispatch the other eight knife in hand. And poor Biscara, said Porthos. Eremus reflected a moment. Biscara at first, replied he, coolly. He knows us. CHAPTER XXXVIII. In spite of the sort of divination which was the remarkable side of the character of Eremus, the event subject to the risks of things over which uncertainty presides, did not fall out exactly as the Bishop of Vaan had foreseen. Biscara, better mounted than his companions, arrived first at the opening of the grotto, and comprehended that fox and hounds were one and all engulfed in it. Only, struck by that superstitious terror which every dark and subterraneous way naturally impresses upon the mind of man, he stopped at the outside of the grotto, and waited till his companions should have assembled round him. Well, asked the young men, coming up out of breath, and unable to understand the meaning of this inaction, well, I cannot hear the docks. They and the fox must all be lost in this infernal cavern. They were too close up, said one of the guards, to have lost sent all at once. Besides we should hear them from one side or another. They must, as Biscara say, be in this grotto. But then, said one of the young men, why don't they give tongue? It is strange, muttered another. Well, but, said a fourth, let us go into the grotto. Does it happen to be forbidden we should enter it? No, replied Biscara. Only as it looks as dark as a wolf's mouth we might break our necks in it. Witness the docks, said a guard, who seemed to have broken theirs. What the devil can it become of them? Asked the young men in chorus, and every master called his dog by his name, whistled to him in his favorite mode, without a single one replying to either call or whistle. It is perhaps an enchanted grotto, said Biscara. Let us see. And jumping from his horse he made a step into the grotto. Stop! Stop! I will accompany you! said one of the guards, on seeing Biscara disappear in the shades of the cavern's mouth. No, replied Biscara. There must be something extraordinary in the place. Don't let us risk ourselves all at once. If in ten minutes you do not hear of me, you can come in, but not all at once. Be it so, said the young man, who besides did not imagine that Biscara ran much risk in the enterprise, we will wait for you. And without dismounting from their horses they formed a circle round the grotto. Biscara entered then alone, and advanced through the darkness till he came in contact with the muzzle of porthosis musket. The resistance which his chest met with astonished him. He naturally raised his hand and laid hold of the icy barrel. At the same instant Eve lifted a knife against the young man, who was about to fall upon him with all the force of a Breton's arm, when the iron wrist of porthosis stopped it half way. Then like low muttering thunder his voice growled in the darkness, I will not have him killed! Biscara found himself between a protection and a threat, the one almost as terrible as the other. However brave the young man might be, he could not prevent a cry escaping him, which Eremus immediately suppressed by placing a handkerchief over his mouth. Mr. de Piscara said he in a low voice, we mean you no harm, and you must know that if you have recognized us, but at the first word, the first groan, the first whisper, we shall be forced to kill you as we have killed your dogs. Yes, I recognize you, gentlemen, said the officer in a low voice. But why are you here? What are you doing here? Unfortunate men! I thought you were in the fort. And you, monsieur, you were to obtain conditions for us, I think. I did all I was able, monsieur, but—but what? But there are positive orders. To kill us! Biscara made no reply. It would have cost him too much to speak of the cord, to gentlemen. Eremus understood the silence of the prisoner. Mr. Biscara said he, you would be already dead if we had not regard for your youth and our ancient association with your father, but you may yet escape from the place by swearing that you will not tell your companions what you have seen. I will not only swear that I will not speak of it, said Biscara, but I still further swear that I will do everything in the world to prevent my companions from setting foot in the grotto. Biscara! Biscara! cried several voices from the outside, coming like a whirlwind into the cave. Reply, said Eremus. Here I am! cried Biscara. Now be gone. We depend on your loyalty. And he left his hold of the young man, who hastily returned towards the light. Biscara! Biscara! cried the voices, still nearer, and the shadows of several human forms projected into the interior of the grotto. Biscara rushed to meet his friends in order to stop them and met them just as they were adventuring into the cave. Eremus and Porthos listened with the intense attention of men whose life depends upon a breath of air. Oh, oh! exclaimed one of the guards as he came to the light. How pale you are! Pale! cried another. You ought to say Corpse color! I, said the young man, endeavoring to collect his faculties. In the name of heaven what has happened? exclaimed all the voices. You have not a drop of blood in your veins, my poor friend! said one of them, laughing. That makes yours, it is nothing. Make yours, it is serious! said another. He is going to faint. Does any one of you happen to have any salts? And they all laughed. This hail of jests fell round Biscara's ears like musket-balls in a melee. He recovered himself amidst a deluge of interrogations. What do you suppose I have seen? asked he. I was too hot when I entered the grotto, and I have been struck with a chill. That is all. But the dogs, the dogs, have you seen them again? Did you see anything of them? Do you know anything about them? I suppose they have got out some other way. Monsieur, said one of the young men, there is in that which is going on, in the paleness and silence of our friend, a mystery which Biscara will not or cannot reveal. Only, and this is certain, Biscara has seen something in the grotto. Well, from my part, I am very curious to see what it is, even if it is the devil. To the grotto, monsieur, to the grotto! To the grotto! Repeated all the voices, and the echo of the cavern carried like a menace to porthos and aramus. To the grotto, to the grotto! Biscara threw himself before his companions. Monsieur, monsieur! cried he. In the name of heaven! Do not go in! Why, what is there so terrific in the cavern? asked several at once. Come, speak, Biscara! Excitedly it is the devil he has seen, repeated he who had before advanced that hypothesis. Well, said another, if he has seen him, he need not be selfish. He may as well let us have a look at him in turn. Monsieur, monsieur, I beseech you, urge Biscara. Nonsense! Let us pass! Monsieur, I implore you not to enter. Why? Continue yourself! Then one of the officers, who, of a riper age than the others, had till this time remained behind, and had said nothing, advanced. Monsieur, said he, with a calmness which contrasted with the animation of the young men, there is in there some person or something that is not the devil, but which, whatever it may be, has had sufficient power to silence our dogs. We must discover who this someone is, or what this something is. Biscara made a last effort to stop his friends, but it was useless. In vain he threw himself before the rascist, in vain he clung to the rocks to bar the passage. The crowd of young men rushed into the cave, in the steps of the officer who had spoken last, but who had sprung in first, sword in hand, to face the unknown danger. Biscara, repulsed by his friends, unable to accompany them, without passing in the eyes of Porthos and Aramis for a traitor and a perjurer, with painfully attentive ear and unconsciously supplicating hands, leaned against the rough side of a rock which he thought must be exposed to the fire of the musketeers. As to the guards, they penetrated further and further with exclamations that grew fainter as they advanced. All at once, a discharge of musketry, growling like thunder, exploded in the entrails of the vault. Two or three balls were flattened against the rock on which Biscara was leaning. At the same instant, cries, shrieks, imprecations burst forth, and the little troop of gentlemen reappeared. Some pale, some bleeding, all enveloped in a cloud of smoke, which the outer air seemed to suck from the depths of the cavern. Biscara! Biscara! cried the fugitives. You knew there was an ambuscade in that cavern, and you did not warn us. Biscara, you are the cause that four of us are murdered men. Woe be to you, Biscara! You are the cause of my being wounded unto death! said one of the young men, letting a gush of scarlet life-blood vomit in his palm and spattering into Biscara's livid face. My blood be on your head! and he rolled in agony at the feet of the young man. But at least tell us who is there! cried several furious voices. Biscara remained silent. Tell us or die! cried the wounded man, raising himself upon one knee, and lifting towards his companion an arm bearing a useless sword. That rushed towards him, opening his breast for the blow. But the wounded man fell back not to rise again, uttering a groan which was his last. Biscara, with hair on end, haggard eyes and bewildered head, advanced towards the interior of the cavern, saying, You are right! Death to me! Who have allowed my comrades to be assassinated! I am a worthless wretch! And throwing away his sword, for he wished to die without defending himself, he rushed head foremost into the cavern. The others followed him. The eleven who remained out of sixteen imitated his example, but they did not go further than the first. A second discharge laid five upon the icy sand, and as it was impossible to see once this murderous thunder issued, the others fell back with a terror that can be better imagined than described. But far from flying, as the others had done, Biscara remained safe and sound, seated on a fragment of rock, and waited. There were only six gentlemen left. Seriously, said one of the survivors, Is it the devil? Malfoy, it is much worse, said another. Ask Biscara, he knows. Where is Biscara? The young man looked round them and saw that Biscara did not answer. He is dead, said two or three voices. Oh, no, replied another. I saw him through the smoke, sitting quietly on a rock. He is in the cavern. He is waiting for us. He must know who are there. And how should he know them? He was taken prisoner by the rebels. That is true. Well, let us call him and learn from him whom we have to deal with. And all voices shouted, Biscara, Biscara! But Biscara did not answer. Good, said the officer, who had shown so much coolness in the affair. We have no longer any need of him. Here are reinforcements coming. In fact, a company of guards, left in the rear by their officers, whom the ardor of the chase had carried away, from seventy-five to eighty men, arrived in good order, led by their captain and the first lieutenant. The five officers hastened to meet their soldiers, and, in language the eloquence of which may be easily imagined, they related the adventure and asked for aid. The captain interrupted them. Where are your companions? demanded he. Dead! But there were sixteen of you. Ten are dead, Biscara's in the cavern, and we are five. Biscara is a prisoner? Probably. No, for here he is. Look! In fact, Biscara appeared at the opening of the grotto. He is making a sign to come on, said the officer. Come on! Come on! cried all the troop, and they advanced to meet Biscara. Monsieur, said the captain, addressing Biscara, I am assured that you know who the men are in that grotto, and who make such a desperate defense. In the king's name I command you to declare what you know. Captain, said Biscara, you have no need to command me. My word has been restored to me this very instant, and I came in the name of these men. To tell me who they are? To tell you they are determined to defend themselves to the death, unless you grant them satisfactory terms. How many are there of them, then? There are two, said Biscara. There are two, and want to impose conditions upon us. There are two, and they have already killed ten of our men. What sort of people are they? Giants? Do you remember the history of the Bastions sans je vais, Captain? Yes, where four musketeers held out against an army. Well, these are two of those same musketeers, and their names. At that period they were called Porthos and Aramis. Now they are styled Monsieur de Blay and Monsieur du Valan. And what interest have they in all this? It is they who were holding Baileel for Monsieur Fouquette. A murmur ran through the ranks of the soldiers on hearing the two words Porthos and Aramis. The musketeers, the musketeers, repeated they. And among all these brave men the idea that they were going to have a struggle against two of the oldest glories of the French army, made a shiver, half-enthusiasm, two-thirds terror, run through them. In fact, those four names, d'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, were venerated among all who wore a sword, as in antiquity the names of Hercules, Theseus, Castor, and Pollux were venerated. Two men, and they have killed ten in two discharges. It is impossible, Monsieur de Biscarrat. A captain, replied the latter, I do not tell you that they have not with them two or three men, as the musketeers of the Bastions Saint Gervais had two or three lackeys. But believe me, captain, I have seen these men. I have been taken prisoner by them. I know they themselves alone are all sufficient to destroy an army. That we shall see, said the captain, and that in a moment, too. Gentlemen, attention! At this reply no one stirred, and all prepared to obey. Biscarrat alone risked a last attempt. Monsieur, said he in a low voice, be persuaded by me. Let us pass on our way. Those two men, those two lions you are going to attack, will defend themselves to the death. They have already killed ten of our men. They will kill double the number, and end by killing themselves rather than surrender. What shall we gain by fighting them? We shall gain the consciousness, Monsieur, of not having allowed eighty of the king's guards to retire before two rebels. If I listen to your advice, Monsieur, I should be a dishonored man, and by dishonoring myself I should dishonor the army. Forward, my men! And he marched first, as far as the opening of the grotto. There he halted. The object of this halt was to give Biscarrat and his companions time to describe to him the interior of the grotto. Then when he believed he had a sufficient acquaintance with the place, he divided his company into three bodies, which were to enter successively, keeping up a sustained fire in all directions. No doubt in this attack they would lose five more, perhaps ten, but certainly they must end by taking the rebels, since there was no issue, and at any rate two men could not kill eighty. Captain, said Biscarrat, I beg to be allowed to march at the head of the first platoon. So be it! replied the captain. You have all the honour. I make you a present of it. Thanks! replied the young man, with all the firmness of his race. Take your sword, then! I shall go as I am, captain, said Biscarrat, for I do not go to kill, I go to be killed. And placing himself at the head of the first platoon, with head uncovered and arms crossed, March, gentlemen, said he. And they at first hoped to make the bark pass through the little issue of the cavern, concealing in that fashion both their labours and their flight. The arrival of the fox and dogs obliged them to remain concealed. The grotto extended the space of about a hundred toises, to that little slope dominating a creek. The temple of the Celtic divinities, when Belial was still called Calanese. This grotto had beheld more than one human sacrifice accomplished in its mystic depths. The first entrance to the cavern was by a moderate descent, above which distorted rocks formed a weird arcade. The interior, very uneven and dangerous from the inequalities of the vault, was subdivided into several compartments, which communicated with each other by means of rough and jagged steps, fixed right and left, in uncouth natural pillars. At the third compartment the vault was so low, the passage so narrow, that the bark would scarcely have passed without touching the side. Nevertheless, in moments of despair, wood softens, and stone grows flexible beneath the human will. Such was the thought of Aramis, when, after having fought the fight, he decided upon flight. A flight most dangerous, since all the assailants were not dead, and that, admitting the possibility of putting the bark to sea, they would have to fly an open day, before the conquered, so interested on recognizing their small number in pursuing their conquerors. When the two discharges had killed ten men, Aramis, familiar with the windings of the cavern, went to reconnoiter them one by one, and counted them, for the smoke prevented seeing outside, and he immediately commanded that the canoe should be rolled as far as the Great Stone, the closure of the liberating issue. Porthos collected all his strength, took the canoe in his arms, and raised it up, whilst the Bretons made it run rapidly along the rollers. They had descended into the third compartment. They had arrived at the stone which walled the outlet. Porthos seized this gigantic stone and its base, applied his robust shoulder, and gave a heave which made the wall crack. A cloud of dust fell from the vault, with the ashes of ten thousand generations of seabirds, whose nests stuck like cement to the rock. At the third shock, the stone gave way, and oscillated for a minute. Porthos, placing his back against the neighboring rock, made an arch with his foot, which drove the block out of the calcareous masses which served for hinges and cramps. The stone fell, and daylight was visible, brilliant, radiant, flooding the cavern through the opening, and the blue sea appeared to the delighted Bretons. They began to lift the bark over the barricade. Twenty more toys, and it would glide into the ocean. It was during this time that the company arrived, was drawn up by the captain, and disposed for either an escalade or an assault. This watched over everything, to favor the labors of his friends. He saw the reinforcements, counted the men, and convinced himself at a single glance of the insurmountable peril to which fresh combat would expose them. To escape by sea, at the moment the cavern was about to be invaded, was impossible. In fact, the daylight which had just been admitted to the last compartments had exposed to the soldiers the bark being rolled towards the sea. The two rebels were then musket-shot, and one of their discharges would riddle the boat if it did not kill the navigators. Besides, allowing everything, if the bark escaped with the men on board of it, how could the alarm be suppressed? How could notice to the royal lighters be prevented? What could hinder the poor canoe, followed by sea and watched from the shore, from succumbing before the end of the day? Aramis, digging his hands into his gray hair with rage, invoked the assistance of God and the assistance of the demons. Calling to Porthos, who was doing more work than all the rollers, whether of flesh or wood, my friend, said he, our adversaries have just received a reinforcement. Ah! ah! said Porthos quietly. What is to be done, then? To recommence the combat, said Aramis, is hazardous. Yes, said Porthos, for it is difficult to suppose that out of two one should not be killed, and certainly if one of us was killed the other would get himself killed also. Porthos spoke these words with that heroic nature which, with him, grew grander with necessity. Aramis felt it like a spur to his heart. We shall neither of us be killed if you do what I tell you, friend Porthos. Tell me what? These people are coming down into the grotto. Yes, we could kill about fifteen of them, but no more. How many are there in all? asked Porthos. They have received a reinforcement of seventy-five men. Seventy-five in five, eighty. Ah! said Porthos. If they fire all at once they will riddle us with balls. Certainly they will. Without reckoning, added Aramis, that the detonation might occasion a collapse of the cavern. Hi! said Porthos. A piece of falling rock just now grazed my shoulder. You see, then. Oh! it is nothing. We must determine upon something quickly. Our Bretons are going to continue to roll the canoe towards the sea. Very well. We too will keep the powder, the balls, and the muskets here. But only two, my dear Aramis. We shall never fire three shots together, said Porthos innocently. The defense by musketry is a bad one. Find a better, then. I have found one, said the giant eagerly. I will place myself an embuscade behind the pillar with this iron bar, an invisible, unattackable. If they come in floods, I can let my bar fall upon their skulls thirty times in a minute. Hi! What do you think of the project? You smile. Excellent, dear friend. Perfect. I approve it greatly. Only you will frighten them, and half of them will remain outside to take us by famine. What we want, my good friend, is the entire destruction of the troop. A single survivor encompasses our ruin. You will fright, my friend, but how can we attract them, pray? By not stirring, my good Porthos. Well, we won't stir, then, but when they are all together. Then leave it to me. I have an idea. If it is so, and your idea proves a good one, and your idea is most likely to be good, I am satisfied. To your embuscade, Porthos, and count how many enter. But you, what will you do? Don't trouble yourself about me. I have a task to perform. I think I hear shouts. It is they. To your post. Keep within reach of my voice in hand. Porthos took refuge in the second compartment, which was in darkness, absolutely black. Eremus glided into the third. The giant held in his hand an iron bar of about fifty pounds weight. Porthos handled this lever, which had been used in rolling the bark, with marvellous facility. During this time the Bretons had pushed the bark to the beach. In the further and lighter compartment, Eremus, stooping and concealed, was busy with some mysterious maneuver. A command was given in a loud voice. It was the last order of the Captain Commandant. Twenty-five men jumped from the upper rocks into the first compartment of the grotto, and having taken their ground, began to fire. The echoes shrieked and barked. The hissing balls seemed actually to rarify the air, and then opaque smoke filled the vault. To the left! To the left! cried Biscarat, who in his first assault had seen the passage to the second chamber, and who, animated by the smell of powder, wished to guide his soldiers in that direction. The troop, accordingly, precipitated themselves to the left, the passage gradually growing narrower. Biscarat, with his hands stretched forward, devoted to death, marched in advance of the muskets. Come on! Come on! exclaimed he. I see daylight! Wake, porthos! came the sepulchral voice of Aramis. Porthos breathed a heavy sigh, but he obeyed. The iron bar fell full and direct upon the head of Biscarat, who was dead before he had ended his cry. Then the formidable lever rose ten times in ten seconds and made ten corpses. The soldiers could see nothing. They heard sighs and groans. They stumbled over dead bodies, but as they had no conception of the cause of all this, they came forward, jostling each other. The implacable bar, still falling, annihilated the first platoon, without a single sound to warn the second, which was quietly advancing. Only, commanded by the captain, the men had stripped a fur growing on the shore, and with its resinous branches twisted together, the captain had made a flambeau. On arriving at the compartment where porthos, like the exterminating angel, had destroyed all he touched, the first rank drew back in terror. No firing had replied to that of the guards, and yet their way was stopped by a heap of dead bodies. They literally walked in blood. Porthos was still behind his pillar. The captain, illuminating with trembling pine torch this frightful carnage of which he in vain sought the cause, drew back towards the pillar behind which Porthos was concealed. Then a gigantic hand issued from the shade and fastened on the throat of the captain, who uttered a stifle rattle, his stretched out arms beating the air. The torch fell and was extinguished in blood. A second after, the corpse of the captain dropped close to the extinguished torch, and added another body to the heap of dead, which blocked up the passage. All this was affected as mysteriously as though by magic. During the rattling in the throat of the captain, the soldiers who accompanied him had turned round, caught a glimpse of his extended arms, his eyes starting from their sockets, and then the torch fell, and they were left in darkness. From an unreflective, instinctive, mechanical feeling, the lieutenant cried, FIRE! Immediately a volley of musketry flamed, thundered, roared in the cavern, bringing down enormous fragments from the vaults. The cavern was lighted for an instant by this discharge, and then immediately returned to pitchy darkness, rendered thicker by the smoke. To this succeeded a profound silence, broken only by the steps of the third brigade, now entering the cavern. CHAPTER 50 OF THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK This leper-box recording is in the public domain, and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK By Alexander Dumas. CHAPTER 50 THE DEATH OF A TITAN At the moment when Porthos, more accustomed to the darkness than these men, coming from open daylight, was looking round him to see if through this artificial midnight Aramis were not making him some signal, he felt his arm gently touched, and a voice low as a breath murmured in his ear, Come. Oh! said Porthos. Hush! said Aramis, if possible, yet more softly. And amidst the noise of the third brigade, which continued to advance, the imprecations of the guards still left alive, the muffled groanes of the dying, Aramis and Porthos glided unseen along the granite walls of the cavern. Aramis led Porthos into the last but one compartment, and showed him, in a hollow of the rocky wall, a barrel of powder weighing from seventy to eighty pounds, to which he had just attached 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 throw it amidst our enemies. Can you do so? Pog blur! replied Porthos, and he lifted the barrel with one hand. Light it! Stop! said Aramis, till they are all massed together, and then my Jupiter hurl your thunderbolt among them. Light it! repeated Porthos. On my part, continued Aramis, I will join our Bretons and help them to get the canoe to the sea. I will wait for you on the shore, launch it strongly, and hasten to us. Light it! said Porthos a third time. But do you understand me? Pog blur! said Porthos again, with laughter that he did not even attempt to restrain. When a thing is explained to me, I understand it. Be gone, and give me the light! Aramis gave the burning match to Porthos, who held out his arm to him, his hands being engaged. Aramis pressed the arm of Porthos with both his hands, and fell back to the outlet of the cavern where the three rowers awaited him. Porthos, left alone, applied the spark bravely to the match. The spark. A feeble spark, first principle of conflagration, shown in the darkness like a glow-worm, then was deadened against the match which it set fire to. Porthos enlivening the flame with his breath. The smoke was a little dispersed, and by the light of the sparkling match objects might, for two seconds, be distinguished. It was a brief but splendid spectacle. Head of this giant, pale, bloody, his countenance lighted by the fire of the match burning in surrounding darkness. The soldiers saw him. They saw the barrel he held in his hand. They at once understood what was going to happen. Then these men, already choked with horror at the sight of what had been accomplished, filled with terror at the thought of what was about to be accomplished, gave out a simultaneous shriek of agony. Some endeavored to fly, but they encountered the Third Brigade, which barred their passage. Others mechanically took aim and attempted to fire their discharged muskets. Others fell instinctively upon their knees. Two or three officers cried out to Porthos to promise him his liberty if he would spare their lives. The lieutenant of the Third Brigade commanded his men to fire, but the guards had before them their terrified companions who served as a living rampart for Porthos. We have said that the light produced by the spark and the match did not last more than two seconds. But during these two seconds that is what it illumined. In the first place, the giant, enlarged in the darkness. Then, at ten paces off, a heap of bleeding bodies crushed, mutilated, in the midst of which some still heaved in the last agony, lifting the mass as a last respiration, inflating the sides of some old monster dying in the night. Every breath of Porthos, thus vivifying the match, sent towards this heap of bodies a phosphorescent aura, mingled with streaks of purple. In addition to this principal group scattered about the grotto, as the chances of death or surprise had stretched them, isolated bodies seemed to be making ghastly exhibitions of their gaping wounds. Above ground, bedded in pools of blood, rose, heavy and sparkling, the short, thick pillars of the cavern, of which the strongly marked shades threw out the luminous particles. And all this was seen by the tremulous light of a match attached to a barrel of powder. That is to say, a torch which, whilst throwing a light on the dead past, showed death to come. As I have said, this spectacle did not last above two seconds. During this short space of time, an officer of the Third Brigade got together eight men armed with muskets, and, through an opening, ordered them to fire upon Porthos. But they who received the order to fire trembled so that three guards fell by the discharge, and the five remaining balls hissed on to splinter the vault, plow the ground, or indent the pillars of the cavern. A burst of laughter replied to this volley. Then the arm of the giant swung round. Then was seen whirling through the air like a falling star, the train of fire. The barrel, hurled a distance of thirty feet, cleared the barricade of dead bodies, and fell amidst a group of shrieking soldiers who threw themselves on their faces. The officer had followed the brilliant train in the air. He endeavored to precipitate himself upon the barrel and tear out the match before it reached the powder it contained. Useless! The air had made the flame attached to the conductor more active. The match, which at rest might have burnt five minutes, was consumed in thirty seconds, and the infernal work exploded. Furious vortices of sulfur and niter, devouring shoals of fire which caught every object, the terrible thunder of the explosion. This is what the second which followed, disclosed in that cavern of horrors. The rocks split like planks of deal beneath the axe. A jet of fire, smoke and debris, sprang from the middle of the crotto, enlarging as it mounted. The large walls of silks tottered and fell upon the sand. And the sand itself, an instrument of pain when launched from its hard bed, riddled the faces with its myriad cutting atoms. Ex-implications, human life, dead bodies, all were engulfed in one terrific crash. The first three compartments became one sepulchral sink into which fell grimly back in the order of their weight, every vegetable, mineral, or human fragment. Then the lighter sand and ash came down in turn, stretching like a winding sheet, and smoking over the dismal scene. And now, in this burning tomb, this subterranean volcano, seek the king's guards with their blue coats laced with silver. Seek the officers, brilliant in gold, seek for the arms upon which they depended for their defence. One single man has made of all these things a chaos more confused, more shapeless, more terrible, than the chaos which existed before the creation of the world. There remained nothing of the three compartments, nothing by which God could have recognised his handiwork. As for Porthos, after having hurled the barrel of powder amidst his enemies, he had fled, as Aramis had directed him to do, and he gained the last compartment into which air, light, and sunshine penetrated through the opening. Scarcely had he turned the angle which separated the third compartment from the fourth, when he perceived at a hundred paces from him the bark dancing on the waves. There were his friends, their liberty, their life, and victory. Six more of his formidable strides, and he would be out of the vault, out of the vault. A dozen of his vigorous leaps, and he would reach the canoe. Suddenly he felt his knees give way. His knees seemed powerless, his legs to yield beneath him. Oh, oh, murmured he. There is my weakness seizing me again. I can walk no further. What is this?" Aramis perceived him through the opening, and unable to conceive what could induce him to stop thus. Come on, Porthos, come on! he cried. Come quickly! Oh! replied the giant, making an effort that contorted every muscle of his body. Oh! But I cannot! While saying these words he fell upon his knees, but with his mighty hands he clung to the rocks and raised himself up again. Quick, quick! repeated Aramis, bending forward towards the shore, as if to drop Porthos towards him with his arms. Here I am! staggered Porthos, collecting all his strength to make one step more. In the name of heaven, Porthos, make haste! The barrel will blow up! Make haste, Monsignor! shouted the Bretons to Porthos, who was floundering as in a dream. But there was no time. The explosion thundered. Earth gaped. The smoke which hurled through the cliffs obscured the sky. The sea flowed back as though driven by the blast of flame which darted from the grotto, as if from the jaws of some gigantic, fiery chimera. The reflux took the bark out twenty toises. The solid rocks cracked to their base and separated like blocks beneath the operation of the wedge. A portion of the vault was carried up towards heaven, as if it had been built of cardboard. The green and blue and topaz conflagration and black lava of liquefactions clashed and combatted an instant beneath a majestic dome of smoke. Then oscillated, declined, and fell successively the mighty monoliths of rock which the violence of the explosion had not been able to uproot from the bed of ages. They bowed to each other like grave and stiff old men, then prostrating themselves lay down forever in their dusty tomb. This frightful shock seemed to restore Porthos the strength that he had lost. He arose a giant among granite giants. But at the moment he was flying between the double hedge of granite phantoms. These latter, which were no longer supported by the corresponding links, began to roll and totter round our titan, who looked as if precipitated from heaven amidst rocks which he had just been launching. Porthos felt the very earth beneath his feet becoming jelly tremulous. He stretched both hands to repulse the falling rocks. A gigantic block was held back by each of his extended arms. He bent his head, and a third granite mass sank between his shoulders. For an instant the power of Porthos seemed about to fail him, but this new Hercules united all his force, and the two walls of the prison in which he was buried fell back slowly and gave him place. For an instant he appeared in this frame of granite like the angel of chaos, but in pushing back the lateral rocks he lost his point of support. For the monolith which weighed upon his shoulders, and the boulder pressing upon him with all its weight, brought the giant down upon his knees. The lateral rocks, for an instant pushback, drew together again and added their weight to the ponderous mass which would have been sufficient to crush ten men. The hero fell without a groan. He fell while answering Aramis with words of encouragement and hope. For, thanks to the powerful arch of his hands, for an instant he believed that, like Enceladus, he would succeed in shaking off the triple load. But by degrees Aramis beheld the block sink. The hands, strung for an instant, the arms stiffened for a last effort, gave way, the extended shoulders sank, wounded in torn, and the rocks continued to gradually collapse. Porthos! Porthos! cried Aramis, tearing his hair. Porthos! Where are you, speak? Here! Here! murmured Porthos, with a voice growing evidently weaker. Patience! Patience! Scarcely had he pronounced these words when the impulse of the fall augmented the weight. The enormous rock sank down, pressed by those others which sank in from the sides, and, as it were, swallowed up Porthos in a sepulcher of badly-jointed stones. On hearing the dying voice of his friend, Aramis had sprung to land. Two of the Bretons followed him, with each a lever in his hand, one being sufficient to take care of the bark. The dying rattle of the valiant gladiator guided them amidst the ruins. Aramis, animated, active, and young as a twenty, sprang towards the triple mass, and with his hands, delicate as those of a woman, raised by a miracle of strength the cornerstone of this great granite grave. Then he caught a glimpse, through the darkness of that carnal house, of the still-brilliant eye of his friend, to whom the momentary lifting of the mass restored a momentary respiration. The two men came rushing up, grasped their iron levers, united their triple strength, not merely to raise it, but sustain it. All was useless. They gave way with cries of grief, and the rough voice of Porthos, seeing them exhaust themselves in a useless struggle, murmured in an almost cheerful tone, those supreme words which came to his lips with the last respiration. Too heavy! After which his eyes darkened and closed. His face grew ashy pale, the hands whitened, and the colossus sank quite down, breathing his last sigh. With him sank the rock, which, even in his dying agony, he had still held up. The three men dropped the levers, which rolled upon the tumillary stone. Then breathless, pale, his brow covered with sweat, Hermus listened, his breast oppressed, his heart ready to break. Nothing more. The giant slept the eternal sleep, in the sepulchre which God had built about him, to his measure. CHAPTER 51 SIMPSONVILLE, SOUTH CAROLINA. THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK. BY ALEXANDRA DU MAH. CHAPTER 51 PORTHOS EPITAF. Hermus, silent and sad as ice, trembling like a timid child, arose shivering from the stone. A Christian does not walk on tombs. But though capable of standing, he was not capable of walking. It might be said that something of dead Porthos had just died within him. His Bretons surrounded him. Hermus yielded to their kind exertions, and the three sailors, lifting him up, carried him to the canoe. Then having laid him down upon the bench near the rudder, they took to their oars, preferring this to hoisting sail, which might betray them. On all that levelled surface of the ancient grotto of Lachmaria, one single hillock attracted their eyes. Hermus never removed his from it, and at a distance out in the sea, in proportion as the shore receded, that menacing proud mass of rock seemed to draw itself up, as formerly Porthos used to draw himself up, raising a smiling, yet invincible head towards heaven, like that of his dear old honest, valiant friend, the strongest of the four, yet the first dead. Strange destiny of these men of brass! The most simple of heart allied to the most crafty, strength of body guided by subtlety of mind, and in the decisive moment, when vigor alone could save mind and body, a stone, a rock, a vile material weight, triumphed over manly strength, and falling upon the body, drove out the mind. Worthy Porthos, born to help other men, always ready to sacrifice himself for the safety of the weak, as if God had only given him strength for that purpose. When dying he only thought he was carrying out the conditions of his compact with Hermus, a compact, however, which Hermus alone had drawn up, and which Porthos had only known to suffer by its terrible solidarity. Noble Porthos, of what good now are thy chateau, overflowing with sumptuous furniture, forests overflowing with game, lakes overflowing with fish, cellars overflowing with wealth? Of what service to thee now thy lackies in brilliant liveries, and in the midst of them Muscaton, proud of the power delegated by thee? Oh, noble Porthos, careful heaper-up of treasure, was it worthwhile to labor to sweeten and gild life, to come upon a desert shore, surrounded by the cries of seagulls, and lay thyself with broken bones beneath the torpid stone? Was it worthwhile, in short, noble Porthos, to heap so much gold, and not have even the distish of a poor poet engraven upon thy monument? Valiant Porthos, he still, without doubt, sleeps, lost, forgotten, beneath the rock the shepherds of the heath take for the gigantic abode of a domen, and so many twining branches, so many mosses, bent by the bitter wind of ocean, so many lichens, solder-like sepulcher to earth, that no passersby will imagine such a block of granite could ever have been supported by the shoulders of one man. Aramis, still pale, still icy cold, his heart upon his lips, looked even till, with the last ray of daylight, the shore faded on the horizon. Not a word escaped him. Not a sigh rose from his deep breast. The superstitious Bretons looked upon him trembling. Such silence was not that of a man. It was the silence of a statue. In the meantime, with the first gray lines that lighted up the heavens, the canoe hoisted its little sail, which, swelling with the kisses of the breeze, and carrying them rapidly from the coast, made bravest way toward Spain, across the dreaded gulf of Gascany, so rife with storms. But scarcely half an hour after the sail had been hoisted, the rowers became inactive, reclining on their benches and making an eyeshade with their hands, pointed out to each other a white spot which appeared on the horizon as motionless as a gull rocked by the viewless respiration of the waves. But that which might have appeared motionless to ordinary eyes was moving at a quick rate to the experienced eye of the sailor. That which appeared stationary upon the ocean was cutting a rapid way through it. For some time, seeing the profound torpor in which their master was plunged, they did not dare to rouse him, and satisfied themselves with exchanging their conjectures in whispers. Eremus, in fact, so vigilant, so active, Eremus, whose eye, like that of the lynx, watched without ceasing, and saw better by night than by day. Eremus seemed to sleep in this despair of soul. An hour passed, thus, during which daylight gradually disappeared, but during which also the sail in view gained so swiftly on the bark that, go in, one of the three sailors ventured to sail out, �Monsignor, we are being chased!� Eremus made no reply. The ship still gained upon them. Then of their own accord, two of the sailors, by the direction of the patron Eve, lowered the sail in order that that single point upon the surface of the waters should cease to be a guide to the eye of the enemy pursuing them. On the part of the ship in sight, on the contrary, two more small sails were run up at the extremities of the masts. Unfortunately it was the time of the finest and longest days of the year, and the moon in all her brilliancy succeeded in auspicious daylight. The Balancel, which was pursuing the little bark before the wind, had then still half an hour of twilight, and a whole night almost as light as day. �Monsignor, Monsignor, we are lost!� said the captain. �Look! They see us plainly, though we have lowered sail. That is not to be wondered at,� murmured one of the sailors, �since they say that, by the aid of the devil, the Paris folk have fabricated instruments with which they see as well at a distance as near, by night as well as by day.� Aramis took a telescope from the bottom of the boat, focused it silently, and passing it to the sailor, �Here� said he. �Look!� the sailor hesitated. �Don�t be alarmed� said the bishop. �There is no sin in it, and if there is any sin I will take it all myself.� The sailor lifted the glass to his eye, and uttered a cry. He believed that the vessel, which appeared to be distant about cannon shot, had at a single bound cleared the whole distance, but on withdrawing the instrument from his eye he saw that, except the way which the bolland cell had been able to make during that brief instant, it was still at the same distance. �So� murmured the sailor. �They can see us as we see them.� �They see us� said Aramis, and sank again into impassibility. �What!� �They see us� said Eve. �Impossible.� �Well, Captain, look yourself� said the sailor, and he passed him the glass. �Monsignor assures me that the devil has nothing to do with this� asked Eve. Aramis shrugged his shoulders. The skipper lifted the glass to his eye. �Oh, Monsignor� said he. �It is a miracle. There they are. It seems as if I were going to touch them. Twenty-five men at least. Ah, I see the captain forward. He holds a glass like this, and is looking at us. Ah, he turns round and gives an order. They are rolling a piece of cannon forward. They are loading it, pointing it. �Misericordia firing at us.� And by a mechanical movement, the skipper put aside the telescope, and the pursuing ship, relegated to the horizon, appeared again in its true aspect. The vessel was still at the distance of nearly a league, but the maneuver sighted thus was not less real. A light cloud of smoke appeared beneath the sails, more blue than they, and spreading like a flower opening. Then at about a mile from the little canoe, they saw the ball take the crown off two or three waves, dig a white furrow in the sea, and disappear at the end of it, as inoffensive as the stone with which, in play, a boy makes ducks and dricks. It was at once a menace, and a warning. �What is to be done?� asked the patron. �They will sink us� said Gowen. �Give us absolution, Monsignor.� Then the sailors fell on their knees before him. �You forget that they can see you� said he. �That is true� said the sailors, ashamed of their weakness. �Give us your orders, Monsignor. We are prepared to die for you.� �Let us wait� said Hermas. �How? Let us wait� �Yes, do you not see, as you just now said, that if we endeavour to fly they will sink us.� �But perhaps� the patron ventured to say, �Perhaps under cover of night we could escape them.� �Oh� said Hermas. �They have no doubt Greek fire with which to lighten their own course and ours likewise.� At the same moment, as if the vessel was responsive to the appeal of Hermas, a second cloud of smoke mounted slowly to the heavens, and from the bosom of that cloud sparkled an arrow of flame which described to Parabola like a rainbow and fell into the sea where it continued to burn, illuminating a space of a quarter of a league and diameter. The Bretons looked at each other in terror. �You see plainly� said Hermas. �It will be better to wait for them.� The oars dropped from the hands of the sailors, in the bark, ceasing to make way, rocked motionless upon the summits of the waves. Night came on, but still the ship drew nearer. It might be imagined it redoubled its speed with darkness. From time to time, as a vulture rears his head out of its nest, the formidable Greek fire darted from its sides and cast its flame upon the ocean like an incandescent snowfall. At last it came within musket shot. All the men were on deck, arms in hand. The canoneers were at their guns. The match is burning. It might be thought they were about to board a frigate and to fight a crew superior in number to their own, not to attempt the capture of a canoe-mend by four people. �Surrender!� cried the commander of the balance cell, with the aid of his speaking trumpet. The sailors looked at Hermas. Hermas met a sign with his head. Eve waved a white cloth at the end of a gaff. This was like striking their flag. The pursuer came on like a race-horse. It launched a fresh Greek fire, which fell within twenty paces of the little canoe, and threw a light upon them as white as sunshine. �At the first sign of resistance!� cried the commander of the balance cell. �Fire!� The soldiers brought their muskets to the present. �Did we not say we surrendered?� said Eve. �Alive! Alive, Captain!� cried one excited soldier. �They must be taken alive!� �Well, yes, living!� said the captain. Then, turning toward the Bretons. �Your lives are safe, my friends!� cried he. �All but the Chevalier de Blé!� Hermas stared imperceptibly. For an instant his eye was fixed upon the depths of the ocean, illumined by the last flashes of the Greek fire, which ran along the sides of the waves, played on the crests like plumes, and rendered still darker and more terrible the gulfs they covered. �Do you hear, Monsignor?� said the sailors. �Yes.� �What are your orders?� �Accept!� �But you, Monsignor!� This leaned still more forward, and dipped the ends of his long white fingers in the green-limbed waters of the sea, to which he turned with smiles, as to a friend. �Accept!� repeated he. �We accept!� repeated the sailors. �But what security have we?� �The word of a gentleman� said the officer. �By my rank and by my name I swear that all except Monsignor de Chevalier de Blé shall have their lives spared. I am lieutenant of the King's frigate de Pomona, and my name is Louis Constant de Pressigny.� With a rapid gesture, Eremus, already bent over the side of the bark towards the sea, drew himself up, and with a flashing eye and a smile upon his lips, �Throw out the ladder, monsieur� said he as if the command had belonged to him. He was obeyed. When Eremus, seizing the rope ladder, walked straight up to the commander with a firm step, looked at him earnestly, made a sign to him with his hand, a mysterious and unknown sign at sight of which the officer turned pale, trembled, and bowed his head, the sailors were profoundly astonished. Without a word Eremus then raised his hand to the eyes of the commander, and showed him the collet of a ring he wore on the ring-finger of his left hand. And while making the sign Eremus, draped in cold and haughty majesty, had the air of an emperor giving his hand to be kissed, the commandant, who for a moment had raised his head, bowed a second time with marks of the most profound respect. Then stretching his hand out, in his turn, towards the poop, that is to say, towards his own cabin, he drew back to allow Eremus to go first. The three Bretons, who had come on board after their bishop, looked at each other, stupefied. The crew were awed to silence. Five minutes after, the commander called the second lieutenant, who returned immediately, ordering the head to be put towards Corona. Whilst the sorter was being executed, Eremus reappeared upon the deck and took a seat near the basting-godge. Night had fallen. The moon had not yet risen, yet Eremus looked incessantly towards Belle Eel. Eve then approached the captain, who had returned to take his post in the stern, and said, in a low and humble voice, What course are we to follow, captain? We take what course, Monsignor pleases, replied the officer. Eremus passed the night, leaning upon the basting-godge. Eve, on approaching him next morning, remarked that the night must have been a very damp one, for the wood on which the bishop's head had rested was soaked with dew. Who knows. That dew was, it may be, the first tears that had ever fallen from the eyes of Eremus. What epitaph would have been worth that, good Porthos! CHAPTER XXII D'Artagnan was little used to resistance like that he had just experienced. He returned profoundly irritated to Nutt. Irritation with this vigorous man usually vented itself an impetuous attack which few people hitherto, were they king, were they giants, had been able to resist. Trembling with rage he went straight to the castle, and asked an audience with the king. It might be about seven o'clock in the morning, and, since his arrival at Nutt, the king had been an early riser, but on arriving at the corridor with which we are acquainted, D'Artagnan found Monsieur de Chevre, who stopped him politely, telling him not to speak too loud and disturb the king. Is the king asleep? said D'Artagnan. Well, I will let him sleep. But about what o'clock do you suppose he will rise? Oh! in about two hours. His majesty has been up all night. D'Artagnan took his hat again, bowed to Monsieur de Chevre, and returned to his own apartments. He came back at half-past nine and was told that the king was at breakfast. That will just suit me, said D'Artagnan. I will talk to the king while he is eating. Monsieur de Brienne reminded D'Artagnan that the king would not see any one at mealtime. But, said D'Artagnan, looking as scant at Brienne, you do not know, perhaps, Monsieur, that I have the privilege of entree anywhere and at any hour. Brienne took the captain's hand kindly and said, Not at not, dear Monsieur D'Artagnan, the king in this journey has changed everything. D'Artagnan, a little softened, asked about what o'clock the king would have finished his breakfast. We don't know. Eh? Don't know. What does that mean? We don't know how much time the king devotes to eating. It is generally an hour. And if we admit that the air of the Loire gives an additional appetite, we will extend it to an hour and a half. That is enough, I think. I will wait where I am. Oh, dear Monsieur D'Artagnan, the order of the day is not to allow any person to remain in this corridor. I am on guard for that particular purpose. D'Artagnan felt his anger mounting to his brain a second time. He went out quickly, for fear of complicating the affair by a display of premature ill humor. As soon as he was out he began to reflect. The king, said he, will not receive me. That is evident. The young man is angry. He is afraid, beforehand, of the words that I may speak to him. Yes. But in the meantime Bel-Eel is besieged. My two friends by now probably taken or killed. Poor Porthos. As to Master Aramis, he is always full of resources, and I am easy on his account. But no, no. Porthos is not yet an invalid, nor is Aramis in his dotage. The one with his arm, the other with his imagination, will find work for his majesty's soldiers. Who knows if these brave men may not get up for the edification of his most Christian majesty a bastion of Saint-Gervais. I don't despair of it. They have cannon and a garrison. And yet, continued D'Artagnan, I don't know whether it would not be better to stop the combat. For myself alone I would not put up with either surly looks or insults from the king. But for my friends I must put up with everything. Shall I go to Monsieur Colbert? Now there is a man I must acquire the habit of terrifying. I will go to Monsieur Colbert." And D'Artagnan set forth bravely to find Monsieur Colbert, but was informed that he was working with the king at the castle of Nutt. Good! cried he. The times have come again in which I measured my steps from de Trevilla to the Gardinal, from the Cardinal to the Queen, from the Queen to Louis XIII. What is it said that men in growing old become children again? To the castle then. He returned thither. Monsieur de Lyon was coming out. He gave D'Artagnan both hands, but told him that the king had been busy all the preceding evening and all night, and that orders had been given that no one should be admitted. Not even the captain who takes the order, cried D'Artagnan. I think that is rather too strong. Not even he, said Monsieur de Lyon. Since that is the case, replied D'Artagnan, wounded to the heart, since the captain of the musketeers, who has always entered the king's chamber, is no longer allowed to enter it, his cabinet, or his salamanger, either the king is dead or his captain is in disgrace. Do me a favour, then, Monsieur de Lyon, who are in favour to return and tell the king plainly, I send him my resignation. D'Artagnan, beware of what you are doing! For friendship's sake go, and he pushed him gently towards the cabinet. Well, I will go, said Lyon. D'Artagnan waited, walking about the corridor in no enviable mood. Lyon returned. Well, what did the king say? exclaimed D'Artagnan. He simply answered, it is well, replied Lyon. That it was well, said the captain, with an explosion. That is to say, that he accepts it? Good. Now, then, I am free. I am only a plain citizen, Monsieur de Lyon. I have the pleasure of bidding you good-bye. Farewell, castle, corridor, and a chamber. A bourgeois about to breathe at liberty takes his farewell of you. And without waiting longer, the captain sprang from the terrace down the staircase where he had picked up the fragments of Gourvie's letter. Five minutes after he was at the hostelry, where, according to the custom of all great officers who have lodgings at the castle, he had taken what was called his city-chamber. But when he arrived there, instead of throwing off his sword and cloak, he took his pistols, put his money into a large leather purse, sent for his horses from the castle stables, and gave orders that would ensure their reaching vaan during the night. Everything went on according to his wishes. At eight o'clock in the evening he was putting his foot in the stirrup when Monsieur de Gèvre appeared at the head of twelve guards in front of the hostelry. D'Artagnan saw all from the corner of his eye. He could not fail seeing thirteen men and thirteen horses. But he feigned not to observe anything, and was about to put his horse in motion. Gèvre rode up to him. Monsieur D'Artagnan, said he, aloud. Ah, Monsieur de Gèvre, good evening. One would say you were getting on horseback. More than that I am mounted, as you see. It is fortunate I have met with you. Were you looking for me, then? Oh, dear, yes. On the part of the king I will wager. Yes. As I, three days ago, went in search of Monsieur Fouquet. Oh, nonsense. It is no use being over-delicate with me. That is all labor lost. Tell me at once you are come to arrest me. To arrest you? Good heavens, no. Why do you come to accost me with twelve horsemen at your heels, then? I am making my round. That isn't bad. And so you pick me up in your round, eh? I don't pick you up, I meet with you, and I beg you to come with me. Where? To the king. Could, said D'Artagnan with a bandering air, the king is disengaged. For heaven's sake, captain, said Monsieur D'Chevre, in a low voice to the musketeer. Do not compromise yourself, these men hear you. D'Artagnan laughed aloud and replied, March! People who are arrested are placed between the six first guards and the six last. But as I am not arresting you, said Monsieur D'Chevre, you will march behind with me, if you please. Well, said D'Artagnan, that is very polite, Duke, and you are right in being so. For if ever I had had to make my rounds near your chambre de vie, I should have been courteous to you, I assure you, on the word of a gentleman. Now, one favour more. What does the king want with me? Oh, the king is furious. Very well. The king, who is thought it worthwhile to be angry, may take the trouble to grow calm again. That is all. I shan't die of that, I will swear. No, but—but—I shall be sent to keep company with unfortunate Monsieur Fouquette. More deal. That is a gallant man, a worthy man. We shall live very sociably together, I will be sworn. Here we are at the place of destination, said the Duke. Captain, for heaven's sake, be calm with the king. Ha! Ha! You are playing the brave man with me, Duke, said D'Artagnan, throwing one of his defiant glances over Chevre. I have been told that you are ambitious of uniting your guards with my musketeers. This strikes me as a splendid opportunity. I will take exceeding good care, not to avail myself of it, Captain. And why not, pray? Oh, for many reasons, in the first place, for this. If I were to succeed you in the musketeers after having arrested you, ah, then you admit you have arrested me. No, I don't. Say met me then. So you were saying if you were to succeed me after having arrested me. Your musketeers at the first exercise with ball cartridges would fire my way by mistake. Oh, as to that I won't say, for the fellows do love me a little. Chevre made D'Artagnan pass in first, and took him straight to the cabinet where Louis was waiting for his captain of the musketeers, and placed himself behind his colleague in the ante-chamber. The king could be heard distinctly, speaking aloud to Colbert, in the same cabinet where Colbert might have heard a few days before, the king speaking aloud with Monsieur D'Artagnan. The guards remained as a mounted picket before the principal gate, and the report was quickly spread throughout the city that Monsieur le Capitaine of the musketeers had been arrested by order of the king. When these men were seen to be in motion, and as in the good old days of Louis XIII that of Monsieur de Treville, groups were formed and staircases were filled. Vague murmurs issuing from the court below came rolling to the upper stories, like the distant moaning of the waves. Monsieur de Chevre became uneasy. He looked at his guards, who, after being interrogated by the musketeers who had just got among their ranks, began to shun them with a manifestation of innocence. D'Artagnan was certainly less disturbed by all this than Monsieur de Chevre, the captain of the guards. As soon as he entered, he seated himself on the ledge of a window, wence with his eagle glance, he saw all that was going on without the least emotion. No step of the progressive fermentation which had shown itself, at the report of his arrest, escaped him. He foresaw the very moment the explosion would take place, and we know that his pre-visions were in general correct. It would be very whimsical, thought he, if this evening my praetorian should make me king of France, how I should laugh. But at the height all was stopped. Guards, musketeers, officers, soldiers, murmurs, uneasiness, dispersed, vanished, died away. There was an end of menace and sedition. One word had calmed the waves. The king had desired Brienne to say, Hush, Monsieur, you disturb the king! D'Artagnan sighed. All is over, said he. The musketeers of the present day are not those of his Majesty Louis XIII. All is over. Monsieur, D'Artagnan, you are wanted in the antechamber of the king, proclaimed an usher. End of chapter. Chapter 53 of The Man in the Iron Mask This Liber-Vox recording is in the public domain, and is read by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexander Dumas. Chapter 53 King Louis XIV The king was seated in his cabinet with his back turned towards the door of entrance. In front of him was a mirror, in which, while turning over his papers, he could see at a glance those who came in. He did not take any notice of the entrance of D'Artagnan, but spread above his letters and plans the large silk cloth he used to conceal his secrets from the importunate. D'Artagnan understood this by-play, and kept in the background, so that at the end of a minute the king, who heard nothing and saw nothing save from the corner of his eye, was obliged to cry, Is not Monsieur D'Artagnan there? I am here, Sire," replied the musketeer, advancing. Well, Monsieur, said the king, fixing his pelucid eyes on D'Artagnan, What have you to say to me? I, Sire, replied the latter, who watched the first blow of his adversary to make a good retort. I have nothing to say to your majesty, unless it be that you have caused me to be arrested, and here I am. The king was going to reply that he had not had D'Artagnan arrested, but any such sentence appeared too much like an excuse, and he was silent. D'Artagnan likewise preserved an obstinate silence. Monsieur, at length resumed the king, What did I charge you to go and do at Belle-Ile? Tell me, if you please. The king, while uttering these words, looked intently at his captain. Here D'Artagnan was fortunate. The king seemed to place the game in his hands. I believe, replied he, that your majesty does me the honor to ask what I went to Belle-Ile to accomplish. Yes, monsieur. Well, Sire, I know nothing about it. It is not of me that question should be asked, but of that infinite number of officers of all kinds, to whom have been given innumerable orders of all kinds, whilst to me, head of the expedition, nothing precise was said or stated in any form whatever. The king was hurt. He showed it by his reply. Monsieur, said he, orders have only been given to such as were judged faithful. And therefore I have been astonished, Sire, retorted the musketeer, that a captain like myself, who ranks with a maire-chale of France, should have found himself under the orders of five or six lieutenants or majors, good to make spies of, possibly, but not at all fit to conduct a war-like expedition. It was upon this subject I came to demand an explanation of your majesty, when I found the door closed against me, which, the final insult offered to a brave man, has led me to quit your majesty's service. Monsieur, replied the king, you still believe that you are living in an age when kings were, as you complain of having been, under the orders and at the discretion of their inferiors. You seem to forget that a king owes an account of his actions to none but God. I forget nothing, Sire, said the musketeer, wounded by this lesson. Besides, I do not see in what an honest man, when he asks of his king how he has ill-served him, offends him. You have ill-served me, Monsieur, by siding with my enemies against me. Who are your enemies, Sire? The men I sent you to fight. Two men, the enemies of the whole of your majesty's army. That is incredible. You have no power to judge of my will. But I have to judge of my own friendships, Sire. He who serves his friends does not serve his master. I so well understand this, Sire, that I have respectfully offered your majesty my resignation. And I have accepted it, Monsieur, said the king, before being separated from you I was willing to prove to you that I know how to keep my word. Your majesty has kept more than your word, for your majesty has had me arrested, said D'Artagnan with his cold, bantering air. You did not promise me that, Sire. The king would not condescend to perceive the pleasantry and continued seriously. You see, Monsieur, to what grave steps your disobedience forces me. My disobedience! cried D'Artagnan, read with anger. It is the mildest term that I can find, pursued the king. My idea was to take and punish rebels. Was I bound to inquire whether these rebels were your friends or not? But I was, replied D'Artagnan. It was a cruelty on your majesty's part to send me to capture my friends and lead them to your gibbets. It was a trial I had to make, Monsieur, of pretended servants, who eat my bread and should defend my person. The trial has succeeded you, Monsieur D'Artagnan. For one bad servant your majesty loses, said the musketeer with bitterness, there are ten who on that same day go through a like-or-deal. Listen to me, Sire. I am not accustomed to that service. Mine is a rebel-sword when I am required to do ill. It was ill to send me in pursuit of two men whose lives, Monsieur Fouquette, your majesty's preserver, implored you to save. Still further, these men were my friends. They did not attack your majesty. They succumbed to your blind anger. Besides, why were they not allowed to escape? What crime had they committed? I admit you may contest with me the right of judging their conduct, but why suspect me before the action? Why surround me with spies? Why disgrace me before the army? Why me, in whom till now you have showed the most entire confidence, who for thirty years has been attached to your person, and have given you a thousand proofs of my devotion? For it must be said, now that I am accused, why reduce me to see three thousand of the king's soldiers march in battle against two men. One would say you have forgotten what these men have done to me, said the king in a hollow voice, and that it was no merit of theirs I was not lost. Sire, one would imagine you forget that I was there. Enough, Monsieur D'Artagnan, enough of these dominating interests which arise to keep the sun itself from my interests. I am founding a state in which there shall be but one master, as I promised you. The moment is at hand for me to keep my promise. You wish to be, according to your tastes or private friendships, free to destroy my plans and save my enemies? I will thwart you, or will drop you. Seek a more compliant master. I know full well that another king would not conduct himself as I do, and would allow himself to be dominated by you, at the risk of sending you some day to keep company with Monsieur Fouquet and the rest. But I have an excellent memory, and for me, services are sacred titles to gratitude, to impunity. You shall only have this lesson, Monsieur D'Artagnan, as the punishment of your want of discipline, and I will not imitate my predecessors in anger, not having imitated them in favor. And then other reasons make me act mildly toward you, in the first place, because you are a man of sense, a man of excellent sense, a man of heart, and that you will be a capital servant to him who shall have mastered you. Secondly, because you will cease to have any motives for insubordination. Your friends are now destroyed or ruined by me. These supports on which your capricious mind instinctively relied, I have caused to disappear. At this moment my soldiers have taken or killed the rebels of Balil. D'Artagnan became pale. "'Taken or killed?' cried he. "'Oh, Sire, if you thought what you tell, if you were sure you were telling me the truth, I should forget all that is just, all that is magnanimous in your words, to call you a barbarous king, and an unnatural man. But I pardon you these words,' said he, smiling with pride. "'I pardon them to a young prince who does not know, who cannot comprehend what such men as Monsieur du Blé, Monsieur du Valan, and myself are. "'Taken or killed?' "'Ah, ah, Sire, tell me, if the news is true, how much has it cost you in men and money? We will then reckon if the game has been worth the stakes.' As he spoke thus, the king went up to him in great anger, and said, "'Monsieur D'Artagnan, your replies are those of a rebel. Tell me, if you please, who is king of France? Do you know any other?' "'Sire,' replied the captain of the musketeers, coldly, "'I very well remember that one morning at Vaux, you address that question to many people who did not answer to it. Whilst I, on my part, did answer to it. If I recognize my king on that day, when the thing was not easy, I think it would be useless to ask the question of me now, when your majesty and I are alone.' At these words Louis cast down his eyes. It appeared to him that the shade of the unfortunate Philippe passed between D'Artagnan and himself to evoke the remembrance of that terrible adventure. Almost at the same moment an officer entered and placed a dispatch in the hands of the king, who, in his turn, changed color while reading it. "'Monsieur,' said he, "'what I learn here you would know later. It is better I should tell you, and that you should learn it from the mouth of your king. A battle has taken place at Bel-Eel. Is it possible?' said D'Artagnan with a calm air, though his heart was beating fast enough to choke him. Well, Sire!' "'Well, Monsieur, and I have lost a hundred and ten men. A beam of joy and pride, shown in the eyes of D'Artagnan. And the rebels,' said he, "'the rebels have fled,' said the king. D'Artagnan could not restrain a cry of triumph. Only,' added the king, "'I have a fleet which closely blockades Bel-Eel, and I am certain not a bark can escape.' "'So that,' said the musketeer, brought back to his dismal idea, "'if these two gentlemen are taken, they will be hanged,' said the king quietly. "'And do they know it?' replied D'Artagnan, repressing his trembling. They know it because you must have told them yourself, and all the country knows it. Then, Sire, they will never be taken alive. I will answer for that.' "'Ah!' said the king, negligently, and taking up his letter again. "'Very well, they will be dead, then, Monsieur D'Artagnan, and that will come to the same thing, since I should only take them to have them hanged.' D'Artagnan wiped the sweat which flowed from his brow. "'I have told you,' pursued Louis XIV, that I would one day be an affectionate, generous, and constant master. You are now the only man of former times worthy of my anger or my friendship. I will not spare you either sentiment, according to your conduct. Could you serve a king, Monsieur D'Artagnan, who should have a hundred kings his equals in the kingdom? Could I, tell me, do with such weak instruments the great things I meditate? Did you ever see an artist effect great works with an unworthy tool? Far from us, Monsieur, the old leaven of feudal abuse, the frond, which threatened to ruin monarchy, has emancipated it. I am master at home, Captain D'Artagnan, and I shall have servants who, lacking perhaps your genius, will carry devotion and obedience to the verge of heroism. Of what consequence, I ask you, of what consequence is it that God has given no sense to arms and legs? It is to the head he is given genius, and the head you know, the rest obey. I am the head.' D'Artagnan started. Louis XIV continued as if he had seen nothing, although this emotion had not by any means escaped him. Now, let us conclude between us two the bargain I promised to make with you one day, when you found me in a very strange predicament at Blois. Do me justice, Monsieur, when you admit I do not make any one pay for the tears of shame that I then shed. Look around you. Lofty heads have bowed. Now yours, or choose such exile as will suit you. Perhaps when reflecting upon it you will find your king has a generous heart, who reckons sufficiently upon your loyalty to allow you to leave him dissatisfied when you possess a great state secret. You are a brave man. I know you to be so. Why have you judged me prematurely? Judge me from this day forward, D'Artagnan, and be as severe as you please. D'Artagnan remained bewildered, mute, undecided for the first time in his life. At last he had found an adversary worthy of him. This was no longer trick, it was calculation. No longer violence, but strength. No longer passion, but will. No longer boasting, but counsel. This young man who had brought down a Phuket and could do without a D'Artagnan deranged the somewhat headstrong calculations of the musketeer. Come, let us see what stops you, said the king kindly. You have given in your resignation. Shall I refuse to accept it? I admit that it may be hard for such an old captain to recover lost good humor. Oh! replied D'Artagnan in a melancholy tone. That is not my most serious care. I hesitate to take back my resignation, because I am old in comparison with you, and have habits difficult to abandon. Henceforward you must have courtiers who know how to amuse you, madmen who will get themselves killed to carry out what you call your great works. Great they will be, I feel. But if by chance I should not think them so? I have seen war, Sire. I have seen peace. I have served Richelieu and Mazara. I have been scorched with your father at the fire of Rochelle, riddled with sword thrust like a sieve, having grown a new skin ten times as serpents do. After affronts and injustices, I have a command which was formally something, because it gave the bearer the right of speaking as he liked to his king. But your captain of the musketeers will henceforward be an officer guarding the outer doors. Truly, Sire, if that is to be my employment from this time, seize the opportunity of our being on good terms to take it from me. Do not imagine that I bear malice. No, you have tamed me, as you say, but it must be confessed that in taming me you have lowered me. By bowing me you have convicted me of weakness. If you knew how well it suits me to carry my head high, and what a pitiful mien I should have while sending the dust of your carpets. O, Sire, I regret sincerely, and you will regret as I do, the old days when the king of France saw in every vestibule those insolent gentlemen, mean, always swearing, cross-grain mastiffs, who could bite mortally in the hour of danger or of battle. These men were the best of courtiers to the hand which fed them. They would lick it. But for the hand that struck them, oh, the bite that followed! A little gold on the lace of their cloaks, a slender stomach in their hote de chose, a little sparkling of gray in their dry hair, and you will behold the handsome dukes and piers, the haughty Marichaux of France. But why should I tell you all this? The king is master. He wills that I should make verses. He wills that I should polish the mosaics of his antechambers with satin shoes. Mortio, that is difficult. But I have got over greater difficulties. I will do it. Why should I do it? Because I love money? I have enough. Because I am ambitious? My career is almost at an end. Because I love the court? No. I will remain here because I have been accustomed for thirty years to go and take the orderly word of the king, and to have said to me, Good evening, d'Artagnan, with a smile I did not beg for. That smile I will beg for. Are you content, sire? And d'Artagnan bowed his silver head, upon which the smiling king placed his white hand with pride. Thanks, my old servant, my faithful friend, said he, as reckoning from this day I have no longer any enemies in France. It remains with me to send you to a foreign field to gather your marshals fatal. Depend upon me for finding you an opportunity. In the meanwhile eat of my very best bread, and sleep in absolute tranquillity. That is all kind and well, said d'Artagnan, much agitated. But those poor men at Bel-Eel, one of them in particular, so good, so brave, so true. Do you ask their pardon of me? Upon my knees, sire. Well then go and take it to them, if it be still in time. But do you answer for them? With my life, sire. Go then, tomorrow I set out for Paris, return by that time, for I do not wish you to leave me in the future. Be assured of that, sire, said d'Artagnan, kissing the royal hand.