Well!" said Athos, "if you take my advice, D'Artagnan, you will burn
that carriage, in order that no vestige of it may remain, without which
the fishermen of Antibes, who have believed they had to do with the
devil, will endeavor to prove that your prisoner was but a man."

"Your advice is good, Athos, and I will this night have it carried out,
or rather, I will carry it out myself; but let us go in, for the rain
falls heavily, and the lightning is terrific."

As they were passing over the ramparts to a gallery of which D'Artagnan
had the key, they saw M. de Saint-Mars directing his steps towards the
chamber inhabited by the prisoner. Upon a sign from D'Artagnan, they
concealed themselves in an angle of the staircase.

"What is it?" said Athos.

"You will see. Look. The prisoner is returning from chapel."

And they saw, by the red flashes of lightning against the violet fog
which the wind stamped upon the bank-ward sky, they saw pass gravely,
at six paces behind the governor, a man clothed in black and masked by a
vizor of polished steel, soldered to a helmet of the same nature, which
altogether enveloped the whole of his head. The fire of the heavens cast
red reflections on the polished surface, and these reflections, flying
off capriciously, seemed to be angry looks launched by the unfortunate,
instead of imprecations. In the middle of the gallery, the prisoner
stopped for a moment, to contemplate the infinite horizon, to respire
the sulphurous perfumes of the tempest, to drink in thirstily the hot
rain, and to breathe a sigh resembling a smothered groan.

"Come on, monsieur," said Saint-Mars, sharply, to the prisoner, for
he already became uneasy at seeing him look so long beyond the walls.
"Monsieur, come on!"

"Say monseigneur!" cried Athos, from his corner, with a voice so solemn
and terrible, that the governor trembled from head to foot. Athos
insisted upon respect being paid to fallen majesty. The prisoner turned
round.

"Who spoke?" asked Saint-Mars.

"It was I," replied D'Artagnan, showing himself promptly. "You know that
is the order."

"Call me neither monsieur nor monseigneur," said the prisoner in his
turn, in a voice that penetrated to the very soul of Raoul; "call me
ACCURSED!" He passed on, and the iron door croaked after him.

"There goes a truly unfortunate man!" murmured the musketeer in a hollow
whisper, pointing out to Raoul the chamber inhabited by the prince.

Chapter XXXIII. Pr