ls, uttered the most fearful cries. Their
horsemen descended the mountain at the 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 great fury toward the
_etat-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 manifested 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 one of those sentiments of pride natural to all who fight. It was
impetuous, affected, forced even; he sought to intoxicate himself with
noise and carnage. He heated himself to such a degree that monseigneur
called out 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 toward 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 monsiegneur, '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 toward 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 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 o