ir and open fight ever occasion them. Athos
especially, the most reflecting and sensitive of the four, continually
reproaches himself with the share he took in that act of illegal
justice. This woman has left a son, who inherits all her vices, and
who, having been proved illegitimate, has been deprived of Lord De
Winter's estates, and passes by the name of Mordaunt. He is now
brought upon the scene. Raoul, Viscount of Braguelonne, the son of
Athos, is proceeding to Flanders, in company with the young Count de
Guiche, to join the army under the Prince of Conde, when, on the last
day of his journey, and whilst passing through a forest, he falls in
with, and disperses a party of Spanish marauders who are robbing and
ill-treating two travellers. Of these latter, one is dead, and the
other, who is desperately wounded, implores the aid of a priest. Raoul
and his friend order their attendants to form a litter of branches,
and to convey the wounded man to a neighbouring forest inn, whilst
they hasten on to the next village to procure him the spiritual
consolation he is so urgent to obtain.

The two young men had ridden more than a league, and were already in
sight of the village of Greney, when they saw coming towards them,
mounted upon a mule, a poor monk, whom, from his large hat and grey
woollen gown, they took to be an Augustine friar. Chance seemed to
have sent them exactly what they were seeking. Upon approaching the
monk, they found him to be a man of two or three and twenty years of
age, but who might have been taken for some years older, owing
probably to long fasts and severe penances. His complexion was pale,
not that clear white paleness which is agreeable to behold, but a
bilious yellow; his hair was of a light colour, and his eyes, of a
greenish grey, seemed devoid of all expression.

"Sir," said Raoul, with his usual politeness, "have you taken orders?"

"Why do you ask?" said the stranger, in a tone so abrupt as to be
scarcely civil.

"For our information," replied the Count de Guiche haughtily.

The stranger touched his mule with his heel, and moved onwards. With a
bound of his horse, De Guiche placed himself before him, blocking up
the road. "Answer, sir" said he. "The question was polite put, and
deserves a reply."

"I am not obliged, I suppose, to inform the first comer who and what I
am."

With considerable difficulty De Guiche repressed a violent inclination
to break the bones of the insolent monk