D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 159: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

149 King of Portugal. thought of closing with the nearest tormentor, and we were forced toward the most dangerous shore on this coast of dangers. In the mists and in the smoke of our own guns replying to the last, we went to pieces on rocks far out from the land, this side of San Sebas- tian. I was forced into a boat by my devoted officers and friends, but all was of little avail. I found myself mingled with them on fragments of our ship—dead, dis- abled—a last fury of the storm overwhelmed us and I remembered no more. Yes, it seemed to me that a church bell was ringing for my funeral—what hopes are being buried with me, I deplored—well, this brave sol- dier saved me! Jam his debtor forever!” Once again he clasped D’Artagnan’s hand as if never to let him go from his side. “We saw your gallant fight,’ observed the lieuten- ant of the Messier, “and will testify to the outrage! The same fate attended our ship, at which the Spanish fired, I suppose, to destroy us as witness.” “A French ship? ‘This is a doubling of the violence!” “We were conveying this gentleman to Spain, and this part, too,’ went on the naval officer, who did not intend that he should be ignored by the duke. The latter bowed to M. du Vallon, inquiringly. “The ‘Chevalier du Vallon,’ said D’Artagnan, “was bearing me a message from the First Minister of King Louis The Jew pricked up his ears. “Ah, you correspond with Richelieu?” “T have that honor, among others. But I am on fur- lough, and M. du Vallon brought me an extension!” i “IT was put out in a small boat, and I rescued im 93 “Returning hither to await him.” “A regular appointment, between these French gen- tlemen,’”’ observed the duchess, significantly. Braganza looked around like one who sees in what he ‘took to be separate links a chain which might bind him. On remarking the Jew, he frowned. “Wrecks, wrecks, nothing but wrecks,” said he, pass- ing his hand across his brow. “Ill omen!” “Not in the slightest, highness!’ briskly and bluntly Eomicbooks.com