“Monseigneur, comprehending the bad effect of this position on the siege artillery, commanded the frigates moored in the little road to commence a regular fire against the place. M. de Bragelonne offered himself at once to carry this order. But Monseigneur refused to acquiesce in the vicomte’s request. Monseigneur was right, for he loved and wished to spare the young nobleman. He was quite right, and the event took upon itself to justify his foresight and refusal; for scarcely had the sergeant charged with the message solicited by M. de Bragelonne gained the seashore, when two shots from long carbines issued from the enemy’s ranks and laid him low. The sergeant fell, dyeing the sand with his blood; observing which, M. de Bragelonne smiled at Monseigneur, who said to him, ‘You see, vicomte, I have saved your life. Report that, some day, to M. le Comte de la Fère, in order that, learning it from you, he may thank me.’ The young nobleman smiled sadly, and replied to the duke, ‘It is true, Monseigneur, that but for your kindness I should have been killed, where the poor sergeant has fallen, and should be at rest.’ M. de Bragelonne made this reply in such a tone that Monseigneur answered him warmly, ‘Vrai Dieu! Young man, one would say that your mouth waters for death; but, by the soul of Henry IV I have promised your father to bring you back alive; and, please the Lord, I mean to keep my word.’
“Monseigneur de Bragelonne colored, and replied in a lower voice, ‘Monseigneur, pardon me, I beseech you. I have always had a desire to meet good opportunities; and it is so delightful to distinguish ourselves before our general, particularly when that general is M. le Duc de Beaufort.’
“Monseigneur was a little softened by this; and, turning to the officers who surrounded him, gave different orders. The grenadiers of the two regiments got near enough to the ditches and entrenchments to launch their grenades, which had but small effect. In the meanwhile, M. d’Estrées, who commanded the fleet, having seen the attempt of the sergeant to approach the vessels, understood that he must act without orders, and opened fire. Then the Arabs, finding themselves seriously injured by the balls from the fleet, and beholding the destruction and the ruin of their walls, uttered the most fearful cries. Their horsemen descended the mountain at a gallop, bent over their saddles, and rushed full tilt upon the columns of infantry, which, crossing their pikes, stopped this mad assault. Repulsed by the firm attitude of the battalion, the Arabs threw themselves with fury towards the état-major, which was not on its guard at that moment.
“The danger was great; Monseigneur drew his sword; his secretaries and people imitated him; the officers of the suite engaged in combat with the furious Arabs. It was then M. de Bragelonne was able to satisfy the inclination he had so clearly shown from the commencement of the action. He fought near the prince with the valor of a Roman, and killed three Arabs with his small sword. But it was evident that his bravery did not arise from that sentiment of pride so natural to all who fight. It was impetuous, affected, even forced; he sought to glut, intoxicate himself with strife and carnage. He excited himself to such a degree that Monseigneur called to him to stop. He must have heard the voice of Monseigneur, because we who were close to him heard it. He did not, however, stop, but continued his course to the entrenchments. As M. de Bragelonne was a well-disciplined officer, this disobedience to the orders of Monseigneur very much surprised everybody, and M. de Beaufort redoubled his earnestness, crying, ‘Stop, Bragelonne! Where are you going? Stop,’ repeated Monseigneur, ‘I command you!’
“We all, imitating the gesture of M. le Duc, we all raised our hands. We expected that the cavalier would turn bridle; but M. de Bragelonne continued to ride towards the palisades.
“ ‘Stop, 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 saw cause to conclude that the vicomte was no longer master of his horse, and had watched him precede the first grenadiers, His Highness cried, ‘Musketeers, kill his horse! A hundred pistoles for the man who kills his horse!’ But who could expect to hit the beast without at least wounding his rider? No one dared the attempt. 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 certain 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, when a discharge was poured upon him that enshrouded him in fire and smoke. We lost sight of him; the smoke dispersed; he was on foot, upright; 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 towards the palisades. This was a mortal imprudence. Nevertheless the entire army was pleased that he would not retreat, since ill-chance had led him so near. He marched
