Two men lay prone upon the ground, one bathed in blood andmotionless, with his face toward the earth; this one wasdead. The other leaned against a tree, supported there bythe two valets, and was praying fervently, with claspedhands and eyes raised to Heaven. He had received a ball inhis thigh, which had broken the bone. The young men firstapproached the dead man.

"He is a priest," said Bragelonne, "he has worn the tonsure.Oh, the scoundrels! to lift their hands against a ministerof God."

"Come here, sir," said Urban, an old soldier who had servedunder the cardinal duke in all his campaigns; "come here,there is nothing to be done with him, whilst we may perhapsbe able to save the other."

The wounded man smiled sadly. "Save me! Oh, no!" said he,"but help me to die, if you can."

"Are you a priest?" asked Raoul.

"No sir."

"I ask, as your unfortunate companion appeared to me tobelong to the church."

"He is the curate of Bethune, sir, and was carrying the holyvessels belonging to his church, and the treasure of thechapter, to a safe place, the prince having abandoned ourtown yesterday; and as it was known that bands of the enemywere prowling about the country, no one dared to accompanythe good man, so I offered to do so.

"And, sir," continued the wounded man, "I suffer much andwould like, if possible, to be carried to some house."

"Where you can be relieved?" asked De Guiche.

"No, where I can confess."

"But perhaps you are not so dangerously wounded as youthink," said Raoul.

"Sir," replied the wounded man, "believe me, there is notime to lose; the ball has broken the thigh bone and enteredthe intestines."

"Are you a surgeon?" asked De Guiche.

"No, but I know a little about wounds, and mine, I know, ismortal. Try, therefore, either to carry me to some placewhere I may see a priest or take the trouble to send one tome here. It is my soul that must be saved; as for my body,it is lost."

"To die whilst doing a good deed! It is impossible. God willhelp you."

"Gentlemen, in the name of Heaven!" said the wounded man,collecting all his forces, as if to get up, "let us not losetime in useless words. Either help me to gain the nearestvillage or swear to me on your salvation that you will sendme the first monk, the first cure, the first priest you maymeet. But," he added in a despairing tone, "perhaps no onewill dare to come for it is known that the Spaniards areranging through the country, and I shall die withoutabsolution. My God! my God! Good God! good God!" added thewounded man, in an accent of terror which made the young menshudder; "you will not allow that? that would be tooterrible!"

"Calm yourself, sir," replied De Guiche. "I swear to you,you shall receive the consolation that you ask. Only tell uswhere we shall find a house at which we can demand aid and avillage from which we can fetch a priest."

"Thank you, and God reward you! About half a mile from this,on the same road, there is an inn, and about a mile furtheron, after leaving the inn, you will reach the village ofGreney. There you must find the curate, or if he is not athome, go to the convent of the Augustines, which is the lasthouse on the right, and bring me one of the brothers. Monkor priest, it matters not, provided only that he hasreceived from holy church the power of absolving in articulomortis."

"Monsieur d'Arminges," said De Guiche, "remain beside thisunfortunate man and see that he is removed as gently aspossible. The vicomte and myself will go and find a priest."

"Go, sir," replied the tutor; "but in Heaven's name do notexpose yourself to danger!"

"Do not fear. Besides, we are safe for to-day; you know theaxiom, `Non bis in idem.'"

"Courage, sir," said Raoul to the wounded man. "We are goingto execute your wishes."

"May Heaven prosper you!" replied the dying man, with anaccent of gratitude impossible to describe.

The two young men galloped off in the direction mentionedand in ten minutes reached the inn. Raoul, withoutdismounting, called to the host and announced that a woundedman was about to be brought to his house and begged him inthe meantime to prepare everything needful. He desired himalso, should he know in the neighborhood any doctor orchirurgeon, to fetch him, taking on himself the payment ofthe messenger.

The host, who saw two young noblemen, richly clad, promisedeverything they required, and our two cavaliers, afterseeing that preparations for the reception were actuallybegun, started off again and proceeded rapidly towardGreney.

They had gone rather more than a league and had begun todescry the first houses of the village, the red-tiled roofsof which stood out from the green trees which surroundedthem, when, coming toward them mounted on a mule, theyperceived a poor monk, whose large hat and gray worsteddress made them take him for an Augustine brother. Chancefor once seemed to favor them in sending what they were soassiduously seeking. He was a man about twenty-two ortwenty-three years old, but who appeared much older fromascetic exercises. His complexion was pale, not of thatdeadly pallor which is a kind of neutral beauty, but of abilious, yellow hue; his colorless hair was short andscarcely extended beyond the circle formed by the hat aroundhis head, and his light blue eyes seemed destitute of anyexpression.

"Sir," began Raoul, with his usual politeness, "are you anecclesiastic?"

"Why do you ask me that?" replied the stranger, with acoolness which was barely civil.

"Because we want to know," said De Guiche, haughtily.

The stranger touched his mule with his heel and continuedhis way.

In a second De Guiche had sprung before him and barred hispassage. "Answer, sir," exclaimed he; "you have been askedpolitely, and every question is worth an answer."

"I suppose I am free to say or not to say who I am to twostrangers who take a fancy to ask me."

It was with difficulty that De Guiche restrained the intensedesire he had of breaking the monk's bones.

"In the first place," he said, making an effort to controlhimself, "we are not people who may be treated anyhow; myfriend there is the Viscount of Bragelonne and I am theCount de Guiche. Nor was it from caprice we asked thequestion, for there is a wounded and dying man who demandsthe succor of the church. If you be a priest, I conjure youin the name of humanity to follow me to aid this man; if yoube not, it is a different matter, and I warn you in the nameof courtesy, of which you appear profoundly ignorant, that Ishall chastise you for your insolence."

The pale face of the monk became so livid and his smile sostrange, that Raoul, whose eyes were still fixed upon him,felt as if this smile had struck to his heart like aninsult.

"He is some Spanish or Flemish spy," said he, putting hishand to his pistol. A glance, threatening and transient aslightning, replied to Raoul.

"Well, sir," said De Guiche, "are you going to reply?"

"I am a priest," said the young man.

"Then, father," said Raoul, forcing himself to convey arespect by speech that did not come from his heart, "if youare a priest you have an opportunity, as my friend has toldyou, of exercising your vocation. At the next inn you willfind a wounded man, now being attended by our servants, whohas asked the assistance of a minister of God."

"I will go," said the monk.

And he touched his mule.

"If you do not go, sir," said De Guiche, "remember that wehave two steeds able to catch your mule and the power ofhaving you seized wherever you may be; and then I swear yourtrial will be summary; one can always find a tree and acord."

The monk's eye again flashed, but that was all; he merelyrepeated his phrase, "I will go," - and he went.

"Let us follow him," said De Guiche; "it will be the surestplan."

"I was about to propose so doing," answered De Bragelonne.

In the space of five minutes the monk turned around toascertain whether he was followed or not.

"You see," said Raoul, "we have done wisely."

"What a horrible face that monk has," said De Guiche.

"Horrible!" replied Raoul, "especially in expression."

"Yes, yes," said De Guiche, "a strange face; but these monksare subject to such degrading practices; their fasts makethem pale, the blows of the discipline make them hypocrites,and their eyes become inflamed through weeping for the goodthings of this life we common folk enjoy, but they havelost."

"Well," said Raoul, "the poor man will get his priest, but,by Heaven, the penitent appears to me to have a betterconscience than the confessor. I confess I am accustomed topriests of a very different appearance."

"Ah!" exclaimed De Guiche, "you must understand that this isone of those wandering brothers, who go begging on the highroad until some day a benefice falls down from Heaven onthem; they are mostly foreigners - Scotch, Irish or Danish.I have seen them before."

"As ugly?"

"No, but reasonably hideous."

"What a misfortune for the wounded man to die under thehands of such a friar!"

"Pshaw!" said De Guiche. "Absolution comes not from him whoadministers it, but from God. However, for my part, I wouldrather die unshriven than have anything to say to such aconfessor. You are of my opinion, are you not, viscount? andI see you playing with the pommel of your sword, as if youhad a great inclination to break the holy father's head."

"Yes, count, it is a strange thing and one which mightastonish you, but I feel an indescribable horror at thesight of yonder man. Have you ever seen a snake rise up onyour path?"

"Never," answered De Guiche.

"Well, it has happened to me to do so in our Blaisoisforests, and I remember that the first time I encounteredone with its eyes fixed upon me, curled up, swinging itshead and pointing its tongue, I remained fixed, pale and asthough fascinated, until the moment when the Comte de laFere - - "

"Your father?" asked De Guiche.

"No, my guardian," replied Raoul, blushing.

"Very well - - "

"Until the moment when the Comte de la Fere," resumed Raoul,"said, `Come, Bragelonne, draw your sword;' then only Irushed upon the reptile and cut it in two, just at themoment when it was rising on its tail and hissing, ere itsprang upon me. Well, I vow I felt exactly the samesensation at sight of that man when he said, `Why do you askme that?' and looked so strangely at me."

"Then you regret that you did not cut your serpent in twomorsels?"

"Faith, yes, almost," said Raoul.

They had now arrived within sight of the little inn andcould see on the opposite side the procession bearing thewounded man and guided by Monsieur d'Arminges. The youthsspurred on.

"There is the wounded man," said De Guiche, passing close tothe Augustine brother. "Be good enough to hurry yourself alittle, monsieur monk."

As for Raoul, he avoided the monk by the whole width of theroad and passed him, turning his head away in repulsion.

The young men rode up to the wounded man to announce thatthey were followed by the priest. He raised himself toglance in the direction which they pointed out, saw themonk, and fell back upon the litter, his face illumined byjoy.

"And now," said the youths, "we have done all we can foryou; and as we are in haste to rejoin the prince's army wemust continue our journey. You will excuse us, sir, but weare told that a battle is expected and we do not wish toarrive the day after it."

"Go, my young sirs," said the sick man, "and may you both beblessed for your piety. You have done for me, as youpromised, all that you could do. As for me I can onlyrepeat, may God protect you and all dear to you!"

"Sir," said De Guiche to his tutor, "we will precede you,and you can rejoin us on the road to Cambrin."

The host was at his door and everything was prepared - bed,bandages, and lint; and a groom had gone to Lens, thenearest village, for a doctor.

"Everything," said he to Raoul, "shall be done as youdesire; but you will not stop to have your wound dressed?"

"Oh, my wound - mine - 'tis nothing," replied theviscount; "it will be time to think about it when we nexthalt; only have the goodness, should you see a cavalier whomakes inquiries about a young man on a chestnut horsefollowed by a servant, to tell him, in fact, that you haveseen me, but that I have continued my journey and intend todine at Mazingarbe and to stop at Cambrin. This cavalier ismy attendant."

"Would it not be safer and more certain if I should ask himhis name and tell him yours?" demanded the host.

"There is no harm in over-precaution. I am the Viscount deBragelonne and he is called Grimaud."

At this moment the wounded man arrived from one directionand the monk from the other, the latter dismounting from hismule and desiring that it should be taken to the stableswithout being unharnessed.

"Sir monk," said De Guiche, "confess well that brave man;and be not concerned for your expenses or for those of yourmule; all is paid."

"Thanks, monsieur," said the monk, with one of those smilesthat made Bragelonne shudder.

"Come, count," said Raoul, who seemed instinctively todislike the vicinity of the Augustine; "come, I feel illhere," and the two young men spurred on.

The litter, borne by two servants, now entered the house.The host and his wife were standing on the steps, whilst theunhappy man seemed to suffer dreadful pain and yet to beconcerned only to know if he was followed by the monk. Atsight of this pale, bleeding man, the wife grasped herhusband's arm.

"Well, what's the matter?" asked the latter, "are you goingto be ill just now?"

"No, but look," replied the hostess, pointing to the woundedman; "I ask you if you recognize him?"

"That man - wait a bit."

"Ah! I see you know him," exclaimed the wife; "for you havebecome pale in your turn."

"Truly," cried the host, "misfortune is coming on our house;it is the former executioner of Bethune."

"The former executioner of Bethune!" murmured the youngmonk, shrinking back and showing on his countenance thefeeling of repugnance which his penitent inspired.

Monsieur d'Arminges, who was at the door, perceived hishesitation.

"Sir monk," said he, "whether he is now or has been anexecutioner, this unfortunate being is none the less a man.Render to him, then, the last service he can by anypossibility ask of you, and your work will be all the moremeritorious."

The monk made no reply, but silently wended his way to theroom where the two valets had deposited the dying man on abed. D'Arminges and Olivain and the two grooms then mountedtheir horses, and all four started off at a quick trot torejoin Raoul and his companion. Just as the tutor and hisescort disappeared in their turn, a new traveler stopped onthe threshold of the inn.

"What does your worship want?" demanded the host, pale andtrembling from the discovery he had just made.

The traveler made a sign as if he wished to drink, and thenpointed to his horse and gesticulated like a man who isbrushing something.

"Ah, diable!" said the host to himself; "this man seemsdumb. And where will your worship drink?"

"There," answered the traveler, pointing to the table.

"I was mistaken," said the host, "he's not quite dumb. Andwhat else does your worship wish for?"

"To know if you have seen a young man pass, fifteen years ofage, mounted on a chestnut horse and followed by a groom?"

"The Viscount de Bragelonne?

"Just so."

"Then you are called Monsieur Grimaud?"

The traveler made a sign of assent.

"Well, then," said the host, "your young master was here aquarter of an hour ago; he will dine at Mazingarbe and sleepat Cambrin."

"How far is Mazingarbe?"

"Two miles and a half."

"Thank you."

Grimaud was drinking his wine silently and had just placedhis glass on the table to be filled a second time, when aterrific scream resounded from the room occupied by the monkand the dying man. Grimaud sprang up.

"What is that?" said he; "whence comes that cry?"

"From the wounded man's room," replied the host.

"What wounded man?"

"The former executioner of Bethune, who has just beenbrought in here, assassinated by Spaniards, and who is nowbeing confessed by an Augustine friar."

"The old executioner of Bethune," muttered Grimaud; "a manbetween fifty-five and sixty, tall, strong, swarthy, blackhair and beard?"

"That is he, except that his beard has turned gray and hishair is white; do you know him?" asked the host.

"I have seen him once," replied Grimaud, a cloud darkeninghis countenance at the picture so suddenly summoned to thebar of recollection.

At this instant a second cry, less piercing than the first,but followed by prolonged groaning, was heard.

The three listeners looked at one another in alarm.

"We must see what it is," said Grimaud.

"It sounds like the cry of one who is being murdered,"murmured the host.

"Mon Dieu!" said the woman, crossing herself.

If Grimaud was slow in speaking, we know that he was quickto act; he sprang to the door and shook it violently, but itwas bolted on the other side.

"Open the door!" cried the host; "open it instantly, sirmonk!"

No reply.

"Unfasten it, or I will break it in!" said Grimaud.

The same silence, and then, ere the host could oppose hisdesign, Grimaud seized a pair of pincers he perceived in acorner and forced the bolt. The room was inundated withblood, dripping from the mattresses upon which lay thewounded man, speechless; the monk had disappeared.

"The monk!" cried the host; "where is the monk?"

Grimaud sprang toward an open window which looked into thecourtyard.

"He has escaped by this means," exclaimed he.

"Do you think so?" said the host, bewildered; "boy, see ifthe mule belonging to the monk is still in the stable."

"There is no mule," cried he to whom this question wasaddressed.

The host clasped his hands and looked around himsuspiciously, whilst Grimaud knit his brows and approachedthe wounded man, whose worn, hard features awoke in his mindsuch awful recollections of the past.

"There can be no longer any doubt but that it is himself,"said he.

"Does he still live?" inquired the innkeeper.

Making no reply, Grimaud opened the poor man's jacket tofeel if the heart beat, whilst the host approached in histurn; but in a moment they both fell back, the host utteringa cry of horror and Grimaud becoming pallid. The blade of adagger was buried up to the hilt in the left side of theexecutioner.

"Run! run for help!" cried Grimaud, "and I will remainbeside him here."

The host quitted the room in agitation, and as for his wife,she had fled at the sound of her husband's cries.