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The Three Musketeers
Twenty Years Later
The Vicomte De Bragelonne
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The Vicomte De Bragelonne 789 at Prostate Health
Bragelonne! repeated the prince, in a very loud voice; stop!
in the name of your father!
"At these words M. de Bragelonne turned round, his countenance expressed
a lively grief, but he did not stop; we then concluded that his horse
must have run away with him. When M. le Duc had imagined that the
vicomte was not master of his horse, and had seen him precede the first
grenadiers, his highness cried, Musketeers, kill his horse! A hundred
pistoles for him who shall kill his horse! But who could expect to hit
the beast without at least wounding his rider? No one durst venture. At
length one presented himself; he was a sharpshooter of the regiment of
Picardy, named Luzerne, who took aim at the animal, fired, and hit him
in the quarters, for we saw the blood redden the hair of the horse.
Instead of falling, the cursed jennet was irritated, and carried him on
more furiously than ever. Every Picard who saw this unfortunate young
man rushing on to meet death, shouted in the loudest manner, Throw
yourself off, Monsieur le Vicomte!--off!--off!--throw yourself off! M.
de Bragelonne was an officer much beloved in the army. Already had the
vicomte arrived within pistol-shot of the ramparts, a discharge was
poured upon him, and enveloped him in its fire and smoke. We lost sight
of him; the smoke dispersed; he was on foot, standing; his horse was
killed.
"The vicomte was summoned to surrender by the Arabs, but he made them a
negative sign with his head, and continued to march toward the
palisades. This was a mortal imprudence. Nevertheless the whole army was
pleased that he would not retreat, since ill chance had led him so near.
He marched a few paces further, and the two regiments clapped their
hands. It was at this moment the second discharge shook the walls, and
the Vicomte de Bragelonne again disappeared in the smoke; but this time
the smoke was dispersed in vain, we no longer saw him standing. He was
down, with his head lower than his legs, among the bushes, and the Arabs
began to think of leaving their intrenchments to come and cut off his
head or take his body, as is the custom with the infidels. But
Monseigneur le Duc de Beaufort had followed all this with his eyes, and
the sad spectacle drew from him many and painful sighs. He then cried
aloud, seeing the Arabs running like white phantoms among the
mastic-trees, Grenadiers! piqueurs! will you let them take that noble
body?
"Saying these words and waving his sword, he himself rode toward the
enemy. The regiments, rushing in his steps, ran in their turns, uttering
cries as terrible as those of the Arabs were wild.
"The combat commenced 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 vicomte on his
shoulders and carried it back to the lines. The advantage was, however,
pursued, the regiments took the reserve with them, and the enemys
palisades were destroyed. At three oclock the fire of the Arabs ceased;
the hand to hand fight lasted two hours; that was a massacre. At five
oclock we were victorious on all the points; the enemy had abandoned
his positions, and M. le Duc 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 vicomte 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 the brother of 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
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