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Rh 424 THE MAN IK THE IRON MASK. around alighted thousands of bees from the neighboring plants, while chaffinches and red-throats sang cheerfully among the flowers of the hedge. It was to this place the two coffins were brought, attended by a silent and respect- ful crowd. The office of the dead being celebrated, the last adieus paid to the noble departed, the assembly dispersed, talking, along the roads, of the virtues and mild death of the father, of the hopes the son had given, and of his mel- ancholy end upon the coast of Africa. By little and little all noises were extinguished, like the lamps illumining the humble nave. The minister bowed for a last time to the altar and the still fresh graves, then, followed by his assist- ant, who rang a hoarse bell, he slowly took the road back to the presbytery. D'Artagnan, left alone, perceived that night was coming on. He had forgotten the hour while thinking of the dead. He rose from the oaken bench on which he was seated in the chapel, and wished, as the priest had done, to go and bid a last adieu to the double grave which contained his two lost friends. A woman was praying, kneeling on the moist earth. D'Artagnan stopped at the door of the chapel, to avoid dis- turbing this woman; and also to endeavor to see who was the pious friend who performed this sacred duty with so much zeal and perseverance. The unknown concealed her face in her hands, which were white as alabaster. From the noble simplicity of her costume, she must be a woman of distinction. Outside the inclosure were several horses mounted by servants, and a traveling-carriage waiting for this lady. D'Artagnan in vain sought to make out what caused her delay. She continued praying, she frequently passed her handkerchief over her face, by which D'Artag- nan perceived she was weeping. He saw her strike her breast with the pitiless compunction of a Christian woman. He heard her several times proffer, as if from a wounded heart, ''Pardon! pardon!" And as she appeared to abandon herself entirely to her grief, as she threw herself down, almost fainting, amid complaints and prayers, D'Artagnan, touched by this love for his so much regretted friends, made a few steps toward the grave, in order to interrupt the mel- ancholy colloquy of the penitent with the dead. But as soon as his step sounded on the gravel the unknown raised her head, revealing to D'Artagnan a face inundated with tears, but a well-known face. It was Mile, de la Valliere! ''Monsieur d'Artagnan!" murmured she. "You!" replied the captain, in a stern voice — ^*'you here!