The Man in the Iron Mask by Alexandre Dumas (the beginning after the end novel read txt) 📕

The prince turned round at the moment when Raoul, in order to leave him alone with Athos, was shutting the door, and preparing to go with the other officers into an adjoining apartment.

“Is that the young man I have heard M. le Prince speak so highly of?” asked M. de Beaufort.

“It is, monseigneur.”

“He is quite the soldier; let him stay, count, we cannot spare him.”

“Remain, Raoul, since monseigneur permits it,” said Athos.

“Ma foi! he is tall and handsome!” continued the duke. “Will you give him to me, monseigneur, if I ask him of you?”

“How am I to understand you, monseigneur?” said Athos.

“Why, I call upon you to bid you farewell.”

“Farewell!”

“Yes, in good truth. Have you no idea of what I am about to become?”

“Why, I suppose, what you have always been, monseigneur,—a valiant prince, and an excellent gentleman.”

“I am going to become an African prince,—a Bedouin gentleman. The king is sending me to make conquests among the Arabs.”

“What is this you tell me, monseigneur?”

“Strange, is it not? I, the Parisian par essence, I who have reigned in the faubourgs, and have been called King of the Halles,—I am going to pass from the Place Maubert to the minarets of Gigelli; from a Frondeur I am becoming an adventurer!”

“Oh, monseigneur, if you did not yourself tell me that—”

“It would not be credible, would it? Believe me, nevertheless, and we have but to bid each other farewell. This is what comes of getting into favor again.”

“Into favor?”

“Yes. You smile. Ah, my dear count, do you know why I have accepted this enterprise, can you guess?”

“Because your highness loves glory above—everything.”

“Oh! no; there is no glory in firing muskets at savages. I see no glory in that, for my part, and it is more probable that I shall there meet with something else. But I have wished, and still wish earnestly, my dear count, that my life should have that last facet, after all the whimsical exhibitions I have seen myself make during fifty years. For, in short, you must admit that it is sufficiently strange to be born the grandson of a king, to have made war against kings, to have been reckoned among the powers of the age, to have maintained my rank, to feel Henry IV. within me, to be great admiral of France—and then to go and get killed at Gigelli, among all those Turks, Saracens, and Moors.”

“Monseigneur, you harp with strange persistence on that theme,” said Athos, in an agitated voice. “How can you suppose that so brilliant a destiny will be extinguished in that remote and miserable scene?”

“And can you believe, upright and simple as you are, that if I go into Africa for this ridiculous motive, I will not endeavor to come out of it without ridicule? Shall I not give the world cause to speak of me? And to be spoken of, nowadays, when there are Monsieur le Prince, M. de Turenne, and many others, my contemporaries, I, admiral of France, grandson of Henry IV., king of Paris, have I anything left but to get myself killed? Cordieu! I will be talked of, I tell you; I shall be killed whether or not; if not there, somewhere else.”

“Why, monseigneur, this is mere exaggeration; and hitherto you have shown nothing exaggerated save in bravery.”

“Peste! my dear friend, there is bravery in facing scurvy, dysentery, locusts, poisoned arrows, as my ancestor St. Louis did. Do you know those fellows still use poisoned