Chapter VI: Part 6

As they ran they saw Madame Pignoux and her servant also making their escape. Those two old women made their hearts ache. But to call them would be to destroy them and themselves with them. They were running across the fields, apparently heading for some hiding place known to them as a place of safety.

The Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré leaped upon their horses. They were very careful not to descend the Terrier by the road, but took one of the narrow paths, bordered by tall blackthorns, which wind about between the fields.

The battle of the _reitres_ might end abruptly at any moment. They were well mounted and able to follow close upon their prey; but the light gallop of Rosidor and Coquet made little noise on the wet earth, and as the path they were following was constantly intersected by others, the pursuers would have to separate to overtake them.

The first and most essential thing was to gain ground; so the Bois-Dorés thought of nothing at first but throwing the enemy off the scent by plunging at random into that labyrinth of muddy paths, which became blinder and blinder as they approached the valley.

After about ten minutes of hard riding, the marquis drew rein and bade Mario do likewise.

"Halt!" he said, "and open your sharp ears. Are we pursued?"

Mario listened, but the hard breathing of his breathless horse prevented him from hearing well.

He dismounted, walked away a few steps and returned.

"I can hear nothing," he said.

"So much the worse!" said the marquis; "they have finished fighting and they must be thinking of us. Mount again quickly, my boy, and let us ride on. We must succeed in reaching Brilbault, where our friends and servants are."

"No, father, no," said Mario, who was already in the saddle. "There is no one left at Brilbault now. We must ride to Briantes by the cross-road. Oh! please don't hesitate, father, and be sure that I am right. I am perfectly certain of what I say."

Bois-Doré yielded without understanding. It was no time for discussion.

They rode in a straight line toward the hamlet of Lacs, through the great grain-growing tract which, as it all belonged to the seignioral estate of Montlevy, was not, at that time, cut up into many smaller parcels enclosed by hedges.

Our fugitives rode half the distance without seeing any bands of mounted men on the road, which they followed on a parallel line at a distance of two or three gun-shots.

To the marquis's mind this was a bad sign. The quarrel among the _reitres_ could not have been prolonged until then. As soon as the Germans discovered that Macabre was not being assassinated, but was simply locked into the room because of drunkenness, the whole trouble would subside, and La Proserpine was not the woman to forget the prisoners, for whom she hoped to obtain a substantial ransom, if nothing more.

"If they don't come down upon us by the travelled road," thought the marquis, "it must be because they have seen us crossing the flat, and are waiting for us by the wood of Veille, in the sunken roads with which Bellinde is probably familiar. Perhaps the knaves are nearer to us than we think; for the mist is becoming dense, and I am beginning to be doubtful whether those figures I see yonder are young oaks or mounted men waiting for us."

He stopped Mario again to tell him of his apprehensions.

Mario looked at the trees and said:

"Let us go on! there are no mounted men there."

They rode forward. But as they skirted the copse which, at that time, extended to the farm of Aubiers, they suddenly found themselves at close quarters with a party of horsemen who were approaching at their right, and who shouted "Halt!" in resounding tones.

They were French voices, but Bellinde's adventurers were Frenchmen.

The marquis hesitated an instant. It was no easy matter to recognize those men, who were still in the shadow of the trees, while the Bois-Dorés were far enough in the open to be fully exposed to them.

"Let us ride straight on!" said Mario. "If they are not enemies, we shall soon find it out."

"_Vive Dieu_!" replied the marquis, "they must be the _reitres_, for they are following us! Ride hard, my dear child."

And he thought:

"May God give my poor horses strength of leg!"

But the horses had travelled too far over the heavy ploughed land not to have lost their first freshness, and the men behind them pressed them so close that the marquis expected every moment to hear bullets whistling about his ears. He lost ground by trying, in spite of Mario's remonstrances, to keep behind him so that he might receive the first discharge.

One horseman, better mounted than the rest, almost overtook him and shouted:

"Will you stop, you knave, or must I kill you?"

"God be praised, it is Guillaume!" cried Mario; "I know his voice!"

They turned about and were not a little surprised when Guillaume charged upon them and threatened to pull the marquis from his horse.

"How now, cousin!" said Bois-Doré; "don't you recognize me?"

"Ah! who in the devil would recognize you in that rig?" replied Guillaume. "What is that white thing you have on your head, cousin, and what sort of a petticoat are you wearing floating about your hips? I was most anxious for news of you; then, when we approached, I thought that I recognized your horse and Mario's. But I concluded that you were robbers who had stolen the horses, perhaps after murdering you! Can that be Mario? Upon my word, you are both arrayed in strange fashion!"

"True," said the marquis, remembering his kitchen apron and his oilcloth cap, which he had not thought, nor indeed had leisure to remove; "I am not equipped as a warrior, and you will oblige me, cousin, by supplying me with a hat and arms, for I have nothing but a kitchen knife at my side, and we may have a fight on our hands at any moment."

"Here, here," said Guillaume, handing him his own hat, and the weapons of his most trusty servant; "put them on quickly and let us not delay; for it seems that your château is in danger."

Bois-Doré thought that Guillaume was ill-informed.

"No," he said, "the _reitres_ were still at Etalié half an hour ago."

"The _reitres_ at Etalié?" exclaimed Guillaume. "In that case we have nothing to lose by hurrying, unless we want to be caught between two fires!"

There was no time for explanations; they galloped at full speed toward Briantes.

On the way Guillaume's troop was increased by Bois-Doré's servants, who, after a vain search at Brilbault, had received the little gypsy's warning, and were returning to the château at all risks, not placing much faith in her message, but believing it to be some ruse on the part of her comrades to throw them off the scent.

They had decided to return only because Pilar had told them that their master was warned and was himself returning; having failed to meet him at the general rendezvous at Brilbault, they had concluded that the warning, whether true or false, had been conveyed to him, and that it would be useless to go to Etalié in search of him.

LVII

Monsieur Robin had not believed a word of Pilar's story. He had started none the less with his escort, but had made no great haste, and it was to be feared that he had fallen in with the _reitres_, for when the others came in sight of Briantes he had not overtaken them.

They were anxious too concerning Master Jovelin, who had started first for Brilbault with five or six of the Briantes men, and whom they were surprised not to pick up on the road, for they had ridden very fast; so fast that they had no time to communicate these reflections to one another.

In many novels I have read of long conversations carried on between the characters while their horses were cleaving the air and devouring space; but I have never been able to understand how such a thing could be possible in real life.

Although it was about one o'clock in the morning, it was as light as at noon-day when they rode through the village. The farm-buildings were in flames.

At that sight all doubt was at an end, and they rushed forward to attack the tower of the _huis_, which was closed and defended by Sancho and a few gypsies hastily collected by him when he first heard the gallop of the new-comers.

"What are we doing here, cousin?" said Guillaume to the marquis. "Our people are too much carried away by their ardor and do not wait for orders from anyone. We shall lose our best men, and probably gain nothing! Let us take measures to work in a useful way."

"Yes, to be sure," replied Bois-Doré, "try to keep them back. A moment more or less will not prevent my barn from burning; I care more for the lives of those good Christians than for all my crops. Call them back and calm them! I must attend first of all to this child, who causes me much anxiety."

As he spoke the marquis led Mario aside.

"My son," he said, "give me your word as a gentleman not to stir until I call you."

"Why, father!" cried Mario in dismay, "you talk to me just as Aristandre did a little while ago, and treat me like a baby in arms! Are these the lessons in honor and gallantry you give me to-day, when you----"

"Silence, monsieur, and obey!" said the marquis, speaking to his beloved son for the first time in an imperious tone. "You are not old enough yet to fight, and I forbid it!"

Great tears came to the child's eyes. The marquis looked away to avoid seeing them, and leaving Mario in charge of a small reserve force of his faithful servants, he hastened to join Guillaume d'Ars, who had succeeded in reducing his forces to order and submission.

"It is quite useless," said the marquis, "to try to force the _huis_; two men can hold it for an hour unless we choose to sacrifice a score of our own men. Ah! cousin, it is all very well to fortify the _entrances_ to the château, but it is extremely inconvenient when you want to get in yourself. The moat is fifteen feet deep at this point, and the bank is so steep, you see, that swimmers cannot land without being shot down from the _moucharabi_. Do you know what we must do? Look! The barn has fallen in. Well, it must have fallen into the moat and partly filled it. That is where we must force our way in. I will go there with my people. Do you stay here as if you were looking for boards and timbers to replace the drawbridge, which is hoisted, to mislead the enemy, whom you will prevent from escaping when we fall upon him. We, my friends," he said to his servants, "will steal quietly along behind the wall; its shadow will conceal us, notwithstanding the bright fire that is consuming our crops."

The marquis's plan was very judicious, and what he foresaw had actually taken place. The moat was partly filled up and the wall crushed by the fall of the barn. But it was necessary to pass over blazing débris and through billows of flame and smoke. The horses recoiled in fright.

"Dismount, my friends, dismount!" cried the marquis, riding forward at a gallop into that hell.

Rosidor alone plunged fearlessly into it, leaped all the obstacles with marvellous agility, and, heedless of the risk of scorching his beautiful mane and the ribbons with which it was tressed, gallantly bore his master into the centre of the enclosure.

The marquis's luxuriant hair was in no danger. It was still reposing under the firewood at the _Geault-Rouge_.

His servants, already intensely wrought up by the desire to rejoin and rescue or else to avenge, their families, were electrified by their master's courage, and several of them followed him closely enough to prevent his falling into the hands of the enemy. But just as the bulk of the party were passing over the red-hot ruins, a shout of alarm uttered by one of the peasants of whom the party consisted, caused all the rest to halt and rush back in deadly terror.

The high gable end of the barn, which was still standing, began to crack under the action of the intense heat, and swayed outward, threatening to crush anyone who should attempt to pass. If they waited a second it would fall; then they would pass, however difficult the undertaking. That is what everyone thought, and they all waited. But seconds and minutes succeeded one another and the wall did not fall. And those seconds and minutes were centuries in the plight in which the marquis was at that instant. With about half a score of his men, he was face to face with the whole troop of gypsies, still numbering about thirty combatants.

Four hours had passed since Mario had escaped under the _sarrasine_; and in those four hours the bandits had not once thought of gorging themselves again. The first intoxication of their victory and the first gluttony of their appetite had soon given place to the persistent hope of obtaining possession of the château. They had tried all methods to make their way in by surprise. Several of them had fallen, thanks to the vigilance of Adamas and Aristandre, seconded by the presence of mind, sound advice and incessant activity of Lauriane and the Moor. Finding all their efforts unavailing, they had set fire to the barn, hoping to induce the besieged to make a sortie in order to save the buildings and crops. Not without expending vast treasures of eloquence did the sage Adamas succeed in restraining Aristandre, who would have thrown himself head foremost into the trap. Indeed it was necessary for Lauriane to exert her authority, and to point out to him that, if he should fall in his undertaking, all the poor creatures shut up in the château, beginning with herself, were irrevocably lost.

During the hour that the barn had been burning, Aristandre, in a frenzy of exasperation, had exhausted all the oaths and imprecations in his vocabulary. Condemned to inaction, he was fuming and fretting, and even cursing Adamas and Lauriane, Mercedes and young Clindor, who also preached patience--in a word all those who prevented him from acting--when Adamas, who had climbed to the top of the tower-staircase, shouted to him from the cupola:

"Monsieur is there! monsieur is there! I can't see him, but he is there. I will swear to it! for they are fighting, and I am sure that I recognized his voice above all the rest."

"Yes, yes!" cried Mercedes from one of the windows on the courtyard; "Mario must be there, for little Fleurial is like a mad creature; he has smelt him. Look! I cannot hold him!"

"Aristandre!" cried Lauriane, "go out! Let us all go out; it is time!"

Aristandre had already gone. Heedless whether anybody followed him or not, he darted to the marquis's side and delivered him from La Flèche, who, supple as a snake, had leaped to the saddle behind him, and was suffocating him in his wiry, muscular arms, but could not succeed in unhorsing him.

Aristandre seized the gypsy by one leg, at the risk of dragging the marquis with him. He hurled him to the ground and trampled upon him, taking care to crush his ribs; then, leaving him there, dead or unconscious, he threw himself upon the others.

The servants of the château had gone out also, even Clindor, and even poor little Fleurial, who slipped through the legs of the excited Moor, ran between the legs of the marquis, who was too much engrossed to notice him, and at last disappeared in the hurly-burly, to go in search of Mario.

Lauriane, intensely excited, armed herself and attempted to go out.

"In heaven's name," said Adamas, placing himself in front of her, "do not do that! If monsieur sees that his dear daughter is in danger, he will lose his wits, and you will be responsible for his being killed. And then you see, madame, there is nobody left here to help me close the gate, which may be the salvation of our friends. Who knows what may happen? Stay here to help me in case of need."

"But the Moor has gone!" cried Lauriane. "Look, Adamas, look! the dear creature is looking for Mario! She is following the little dog! Great heaven! great heaven! Mercedes, come back! you will be killed!"

Mercedes could not hear amid the din of the battle. Indeed, she did not choose to hear: she was thinking of her child and nothing else. She was literally passing through fire and steel; she would have passed through granite.

The marquis and Aristandre, being gallantly supported, were soon masters of the field, and began to force the gypsies back; a part toward the ruins of the barn, a part toward the tower of the _huis_. Those who passed the high wall of the barn, heedless of its impending fall, were greeted with pikes and clubs by the vassals of Bois-Doré, who had begun to cross that dreaded strip of territory.

They killed and captured several of them. The others turned back, and the whole band, now numbering no more than a score, retreated along the wall and entered the archway of the _huis_.

"Put out the fire!" cried Bois-Doré, seeing that it was spreading to the other farm buildings, "and leave us to complete the rout of these curs!"

He addressed the peasants and the women and children who had ventured forth from the château; then hurried away with his servants to the vaulted archway, where a strange battle was in progress between the fleeing bandits and Sancho, the sole guardian of the exit.

Sancho was guided by a single implacable idea. He had seen the marquis place Mario, with an escort, out of range behind a house in the village. The child was well sheltered and well guarded. But it was impossible that he would not, sooner or later, leave that shelter and come within range of an arquebus.

Sancho was standing there on the watch, his gun-barrel resting on one of the crenellations of the _moucharabi_, his body well hidden, his eye fixed on the corner of the wall at which his prey would appear sooner or later. The dark-browed Spaniard had the incalculable advantage that no anxiety concerning his own life could turn him aside from his purpose. He had no thought of the morrow in his mind, nor even of the passing moment, pregnant with perils. He asked of heaven but a single moment to gloat over and accomplish his revenge.

And so, when the routed gypsies came and threw themselves, howling with fear, against the heavy stakes of the _sarrasine_, Sancho moved no more than the stones of the arch. In vain did frantic, desperate voices shout to him:

"The bridge! the portcullis! the bridge!"

He was deaf; of what consequence were his confederates in his eyes?

The gypsies were compelled to rush to the _chambre de manœuvre_, in order to set themselves free. Their wives and children uttered piteous cries.

It was a counterpart of the scene of terror and confusion that had taken place on that same spot a few hours earlier, among the bewildered vassals of the estate.

Bois-Doré, still mounted and surrounded by his men, had all that was left of that horde of thieves and murderers in a cage. Their women, who had become veritable furies in defence of their children, turned upon him in the frenzy of desperation.

"Surrender! surrender all of you!" cried the marquis, seized with compassion; "I will spare you for the sake of the children!"

But no one surrendered: the miserable wretches did not believe in the generosity of the victor. They did not understand kindness--a rare quality among the noblemen of that period, we must agree.

The marquis was compelled to restrain his men, in order, as he said afterward, to prevent a _massacre of the innocents_, if, indeed, there were any innocents among those little savages, already trained to all the wickedness of which they were capable.

At last the _sarrasine_ was raised and the bridge lowered.

Guillaume, who was as generous as the marquis, would have spared the weak; but, to the great surprise of Bois-Doré, the fugitives passed unhindered. Guillaume and his force were not there.

"Ten thousand devils!" cried Aristandre, "those demons will escape. Forward! forward! after them! Ah! monsieur, we ought to have chopped them up into small pieces while we had them here!"

He hurried away in pursuit, leaving the marquis alone under the archway, now open and unobstructed. He was very anxious concerning Mario, but dared not ride across the bridge for fear of riding down his own men, who were on foot and crowding across that narrow thoroughfare to overtake the fugitives.

At last the bridge was clear. Victors and vanquished had passed out of sight. The marquis was able to cross, and saw Mario coming toward him on his right. The child thought that he might safely leave his place of shelter now that the affray seemed to be at an end.

So far as the bandits were concerned, there was apparently no further danger; the fugitives had no thought but to escape as best they could in any direction; some concealed themselves here and there with much art, while the pursuers passed on.

A single one of the defeated assailants had not stirred, and no one gave a thought to him: that one was Sancho, who was still on his knees, completely hidden, in a corner of the _moucharabi_. From that little machicolated gallery he could have hurled stones down upon the men of Briantes, for there was always a supply of them in the _chambre de manœuvre_, of convenient size in respect to the openings. But Sancho did not desire to betray his presence. He wished to live a few moments longer; he was watching Mario approach, and taking aim at his leisure, when he saw the marquis at the other end of the bridge, much nearer, almost within reach.

Thereupon a violent conflict took place in his mind. Which victim should he select? In those days there were no double-barreled guns. The distance between the father and the child was too short to allow him to reload.

In his struggle with Aristandre, Sancho had broken one of his pistols, while the other was snatched from him by that powerful antagonist.

By a refinement of vindictive hatred, Sancho decided to kill Mario. To see him die would surely be more agonizing to the marquis than to die himself.

But that moment of hesitation had disturbed the equanimity of that cold-blooded ferocity. He fired, and the bullet struck a foot below Mario's breast, who was mounted on his little horse, and pierced the body of the Moor, who had joined him and was walking by his side.

Mercedes fell without a sound.

"_Help, help, my friends!" cried Bois-Doré, finding that he was alone with his son, and exposed to the assaults of invisible foes._]

"Help, help, my friends!" cried Bois-Doré, finding that he was alone with his son, and exposed to the assaults of invisible foes.

His call was answered only by Lauriane and Adamas, who, when they saw the bandits put to flight, had abandoned the tower of the huisset and had come out to join the others.

While they with the help of the distracted Mario raised the poor Moorish woman from the ground, the marquis looked up toward the _moucharabi_ and saw the tall figure of Sancho, who, recognizing the Moor, the original cause of his master's death, was somewhat consoled for having missed his aim. With no thought of escaping, he was hurriedly reloading his weapon.

Bois-Doré recognized him at once, although that side of the tower was only faintly lighted by the conflagration. But he had no loaded weapon, so he jumped down from his horse and returned to the archway to go up to the moucharabi, considering with good reason that D'Alvimar's avenger was the most formidable of all the enemies with whom he had ever had to deal.

Sancho saw him coming, divined his purpose, and without pausing to hurl projectiles which might miss him, he darted to the stairs leading to the _chambre de manœuvre_, determined to stab him, his knife being the only one of his weapons which was not at that moment useless.

Bois-Doré was about to ascend the stairs, holding his sword over his head, when he seemed to have a presentiment of the course so treacherous an adversary was likely to pursue.

He lowered the point of his sword and with it felt each stair in the darkness, divining that Sancho was crouching somewhere there, on the alert to pounce upon him and hurl him backward. He clung with one hand to the rail therefore, but did not protect his body sufficiently.

Sancho, warned by the ringing of the steel on the stairs, sprang to his feet, leaped down several steps, and fell violently upon Bois-Doré, whom he threw backward and seized by the throat; then, kneeling upon his chest, he cried:

"I have you now, accursed Huguenot! expect no mercy, as you had none for----"

Before concluding his sentence, he felt for the marquis's heart; then, raising the knife in the other hand, added:

"_For my son's soul_!"

The marquis, stunned by his fall, defended himself but feebly, and it was apparently all over with him, when Sancho felt upon his face two tiny, faltering hands, which suddenly tore his flesh savagely, so that he had to make a movement to rid himself of them.

Instantly a sudden thought led him to relax his hold of the marquis.

"The child first!" he cried.

But the words were forced back into his throat, and the thought interrupted in his brain by a terrible explosion.

Mario had followed the marquis. He had heard him fall. He had felt in the darkness Sancho's face. He had known from the feeling that it was not Bois-Doré's. He had placed against that rough, hairy skull the muzzle of a pistol snatched from Clindor as he passed, and had fired point-blank.

He had avenged his fathers death and saved his uncle's life.

LVIII

The marquis did not know at once what rescuing angel had come to his assistance.

He freed himself from the body of Sancho, whose bent knees were still pressing upon him. He threw out his arms at random, thinking that he was attacked by a new enemy, who had missed him.

His arms came in contact with Mario, who was struggling to lift him, exclaiming in a heart-broken tone:

"Father, my poor father, are you dead?--No, you embrace me. Are you wounded?"

"No, it is nothing! just a little suffocated, that is all," replied the marquis. "But what has happened? Where is that infamous knave?"

"I think that I must have killed him," said Mario, "for he doesn't move."

"Do not trust him, do not trust him!" cried Bois-Doré, rising with an effort, and dragging his beloved child to the foot of the stairs. "So long as the serpent breathes, he tries to bite!"

At that moment Clindor arrived with a torch, and they saw Sancho lying inert and disfigured. He was still breathing, and one of his great fierce eyes, glaring confusedly through the blood, seemed to say: "I die twice over since you survive me!"

"What! my poor David, did you kill this Goliath!" cried the marquis, as soon as he began to collect his thoughts.

"Ah! father, I killed him two minutes too late," replied Mario, who was like one intoxicated, and whose grief returned with his memory; "I think that my Mercedes is dead!"

"Poor girl! Let us hope not!" said the marquis with a sigh.

They recrossed the bridge to go to her, while Clindor, who was terribly afraid that Sancho, contrary to all appearances, would rise again, pierced the wretched creature's throat with a halberd.

The Moor had risen to her feet. She insisted that they should pay no heed to her, although she could hardly stand. She was grievously wounded; the bullet had passed through her right arm, which was about Mario's waist when the shot was fired; but she was thinking only of Mario, who was no longer at her side; and when she found him there again she smiled and lost consciousness.

They carried her to the château, whither Mario and Lauriane accompanied her, holding her hand and weeping bitterly, for they believed that she was lost.

The marquis remained outside.

Guillaume's absence seemed to him of evil augury, and he rode forward, fancying that he heard, on the higher ground, sounds of more serious import than were likely to be caused simply by the capture or resistance of a few fugitives.

As he advanced, the sounds became more alarming, and when he emerged from the ravine he saw a number of men, vassals of Ars and Briantes, retreating toward him in disorder.

"Halt, my friends!" he cried. "What is going on here, and how happens it that brave fellows like you seem to be showing your heels?"

"Ah! is it you, monsieur le marquis!" replied one of the demoralized men. "We must return to the château and fight behind the walls; for the _reitres_ are coming. Monsieur d'Ars being warned of their approach by Monsieur Mario, rode back to meet them, and he is engaged with them. But what can we expect to do against those fellows? They say a _reitre_ is stronger and crueller than the Christians, and they have cannon too; they would have used them against us already if they had not been afraid of hitting their own men, in the confusion into which Monsieur d'Ars has thrown them."

"Monsieur d'Ars has borne himself gallantly and prudently, my children!" said the marquis; "and if fear of the _reitres_ made you retreat, you are not worthy to be in his service or mine. Go and hide behind the walls; but I warn you that, if I am forced to fall back and shut myself up in the château, I will turn you out as fellows who eat too much and do not fight enough."

These reproaches brought several of them to their senses; the rest took flight; almost all of these were in Guillaume's service. They were not cowards by any means; but the _reitres_ had left such terrible memories in the province, and legend had added thereto such appalling and prodigious details, that one needed to be doubly brave to face them.

The marquis, attended by the stoutest-hearted of them, who already blushed for their demoralization, soon joined Guillaume, who was leading a gallant charge upon Captain Macabre.

The darkness, which, however, had become much less dense, enabled Guillaume to lie in ambush, in order to fall suddenly upon them and prevent them from going forward to cannonade the château; for they actually had a small field-piece, of which Bois-Doré, when a prisoner at Etalié, had not suspected the existence.

Everybody knows that a single paltry cannon would suffice to batter down those little fortresses, which were skilfully disposed to repel the assaults of besiegers in the Middle Ages, but utterly helpless in face of modern siege guns. The most formidable castles of the feudal period, in Berry, crumbled like card-houses under Richelieu and Louis XIV., when the royal power undertook to put down the armed nobility; and it is surprising to find how few soldiers and cannon-balls sufficed for such great execution.

It was most essential therefore for the marquis to prevent them, at any cost, from approaching the château, and he dashed forward to support Guillaume, who bore himself most gallantly despite the desertion of the greater part of his force.

But he soon had to fall back before the onset of the _reitres_, who had the advantage of position as well as of numbers, and the battle seemed lost when they heard the sounds of fighting at the enemy's rear, as if they were caught between two fires.

Monsieur Robin de Coulogne had come up with his men at the critical moment. His moderation was providential. If he had followed the _reitres_ more closely, he would have overtaken them sooner, and probably would not have found them an easy prey.

Thus hemmed in, the _reitres_ fought desperately, especially Macabre's stout Germans, and La Proserpine's hot-headed Frenchmen. Saccage's Italians gave way first, for they detested both Macabre and Proserpine, and had not the slightest desire to die for them.

They tried to steal away and reach the château by a détour; but they were met on the road by Aristandre, who, having gone in pursuit of the gypsies, knew nothing of the attack of the _reitres_, and fell upon them without any idea as to who or what they were.

As he had quite a numerous party, and as he laid the lieutenant low at the outset, the others were speedily routed, and, fearing a fresh display of generosity by Bois-Doré, the coachman lost no time in despatching those who were taken, Lieutenant Saccage at their head.

The latter's belt proved to be a valuable capture; but Aristandre did not choose to appropriate it, but reserved it for general distribution.

A moment later, as he was hurrying to join the marquis, he fell in with one of the men who had accompanied Lucilio to Brilbault.

"Ho! Denison!" he shouted to him, "what have you done with our bag-piper?"

"Ask me rather," replied Denison, "what those brigands of _reitres_ have done with him. God knows! We started for Etalié with him to find monsieur le marquis, but at the foot of the hill we were surrounded by those devils, who pulled us from our horses and made us prisoners. At first, they proposed to shoot Master Jovelin on the spot. They were frantic because he did not reply to them, and they took his silence for contempt. But there was a lady there who recognized him and said that monsieur le marquis would pay a very big ransom for him. So they bound him like the rest of us, and at this moment he and the other four of us must either be free like me, or have been killed in the battle. As for the lady, who was dressed like an officer, I don't know who she is; but may the devil take me if you wouldn't say she was our Demoiselle Bellinde!"

"Well, Denison, let us go and see," replied Aristandre, "and let us save all our friends if it can be done!"

The honest coachman, as he ran, collected as many men as he could, and attacked the flank of the _reitres_ skilfully and most opportunely.

Assailed thus on three sides, and reduced to half their original number, for Bois-Doré, Guillaume and Monsieur Robin had killed as many as Saccage had taken away by his defection, the compact little battalion of _reitres_ devoted their energies to effecting their retreat in good order. But so small a force was too easily surrounded; their cannon, which was with the rear-guard, had already fallen into Monsieur Robin's hands. They could not even disperse. They were forced to surrender at discretion, with the exception of a few who were blinded with rage and whom it was necessary to kill, but not until they had inflicted some damage upon their unmounted adversaries.

Some time, was lost in disarming and binding the prisoners; for they could hardly trust the promises of _reitres_; and day was breaking when they all assembled, victors and vanquished, in the courtyard of the château.

The fire among the farm buildings was extinguished. The damage was great, doubtless; but the marquis paid little heed to it; he wiped away the perspiration and the powder which obscured his sight, and looked about with much emotion in search of the objects of his affection: first of all, Mario, who was not thereto congratulate him, which fact made him fear that the Moor was in a bad way; then Lauriane, who made haste to encourage him concerning Mercedes's condition; then Adamas, who was kissing his feet in a frenzy of joy; then Jovelin and Aristandre, who had not yet appeared, and his worthy farmer, whose death they concealed from him; and lastly all his loyal retainers and vassals, whose number had diminished during that fatal night.

But, while he was asking for them all in turn, he interrupted himself to inquire anew for Mario with sudden anxiety.

Two or three times during his desperate combat with the _reitres_, he had fancied that he saw his child's face hovering about him in the twilight.

"Ah! at last, Aristandre!" he exclaimed, as he spied the coachman on horseback by his side; "have you seen my son? Answer me quickly!"

Aristandre stammered some incoherent words. His great face was drawn by fatigue and confused by inexplicable embarrassment.

The marquis turned as pale as death.

Adamas, who was gazing at him ecstatically, soon perceived his suffering.

"No, no, monsieur!" he said, as Mario jumped into his arms from Squilindre's back, where he had been hiding behind the coachman's bulky figure. "Here he is as fresh and sound as a rose from the Lignon!"

"What were you doing there behind the coachman, monsieur le comte?" said the marquis after embracing his heir.

"Alas! my kind master, forgive me," said Aristandre, who also had dismounted. "When I went to the stable to get Squilindre to carry me against those devils of German horses, I just locked Coquet up so that monsieur le comte could not ride him; for I had seen your demon--forgive me! your darling son prowling around there, and I suspected that he meant to run into danger. But, just as I was in the thick of the fight, I felt something against my side! I didn't pay much attention to it at first, it was so light! But lo and behold, I found I had four arms: two long ones and two short ones. With the two long ones I managed my horse and struck down the enemy; with the two short ones, I reloaded my pistols, and handled my pike so quickly that I did the work of two men. What would you have had me do? I was in a scrimmage where it wouldn't have been a good thing for my little double to put him down on the ground, so I kept on and came out of it whole, thank God! after thrashing the enemy soundly, and riding down more than one villain who wanted your life, which God preserve, monsieur le marquis! with this brave old coach horse, who is an excellent war-horse at need, monsieur! If I did wrong, punish me; but don't blame monsieur le comte; for, by the name of--, he's a fine little--, who pounded those--Germans like a--, and who will soon be a--, like you, master!"

"Enough, enough flattery, my good fellow," rejoined Bois-Doré, pressing the coachman's hand. "If you must teach your young master to disobey, at all events do not teach him to swear like a heathen."

"Did I disobey you, father?" said Mario; "you forbade me to attack the gypsies, but you didn't say anything about the _reitres_."

The marquis took his child in his arms, and could not resist the temptation to exhibit him proudly to his friends, telling them how he had rescued his uncle from the hands of the terrible Sancho.

"Well, my young hero," he added, embracing him again, "it is useless for me to try to keep you in leash; you are your own master. At eleven years of age, you have avenged your father's death with your own hand, and won your spurs of knighthood. Go and kneel at your lady's feet; for you have earned the right to hope to win her heart some day."

Lauriane kissed Mario fraternally without hesitation, and Mario returned her caress without blushing. The moment had not arrived when their holy friendship was to be changed into a holy love.

They returned together to Mercedes, after relieving the marquis's mind concerning Lucilio, who was an excellent surgeon and was already in attendance upon her. Mario had not chosen to boast of having contributed to the rescue of his friend, who had thereafter fought stoutly at his side.

The Moor was so overjoyed by Mario's return and by the tutor's nursing, that she felt no pain from her wound.

After it was dressed, Lucilio turned his attention to the wounded men, even among the prisoners, whom they were making preparations to send, under a strong escort, to the prison at La Châtre.

The _reitres_ were sitting in the _basse-cour_, around the dying embers of the fire, in dire discomfiture; Captain Macabre, who was drunk during the battle and was severely wounded, did nothing but beg for brandy to enable him to forget his misery; Bellinde was so terribly frightened while the battle was in progress, that she was fairly dazed; which fact saved her from feeling the humiliation of being exposed to the contempt and reproaches of the servants and vassals whom she had so long despised and disciplined.

She was the object of some consideration on the part of the village women because of her gorgeous costume, by which they were involuntarily dazzled.

But when Adamas learned of the preposterous attempt she had made to force the marquis to marry her, and her manifest purpose to torture Mario, he was so vehement in commending her to general execration, that the marquis had to hasten her departure for the prison. He even had the generosity, in spite of Adamas's remonstrances, to allow her to retain her jewels, her purse and a horse to carry her.

All the other horses belonging to the _reitres_, excellent beasts and well equipped, as well as the weapons and the officers' money, were distributed among the brave fellows who had taken them; nor would the marquis keep any part of the booty for himself. He turned his attention at once to the needs of his unfortunate vassals, who had been robbed and maltreated by the gypsies.

LIX

They separated as soon as the prisoners had departed, in charge of Monsieur Robin and a large escort of men of the neighborhood, who had been attracted by the uproar of the battle, a little tardily perhaps, but in time at all events to allow the combatants to procure the rest which they sadly needed.

Jean le Clope, who arrived among the last and was already half tipsy, was overjoyed and highly honored to join the escort. He had an old grudge against Captain Macabre, and had lost his leg in an engagement with _reitres_.

So he entered the town of La Châtre, with his nose in the air, assuming the airs of Captain Fracasse, and telling everybody who chose to listen that, _with his bright sword, he slew fourteen of them_.

He pointed out the most important prisoners, saying of each one:

"I captured that fellow."

When the _basse-cour_ was restored to order, there was still much confusion in the courtyard of the château.

The ground-floor apartments were transformed into a hospital for men and animals. The kitchen and dining-room were open to all who wished to warm themselves, and the marquis refused to sit down until he had attended to everybody's needs. Lucilio and Lauriane devoted themselves to the care of the wounded.

There were many varied incidents in this animated scene.

Here, lay a man shrieking and groaning while a bullet was being extracted; there, men were laughing and drinking together as they recalled the exploits of the night; and farther on, were others weeping for the dead.

Ugly, withered old hags made a terrible outcry about goats that could not be found; others had lost their children, and rushed hither and thither, wild-eyed, so choked with grief that they could not call them.

Mario, active and sympathetic, would go in search of them, while Adamas, always provident, caused a large trench to be dug, in a neighboring field, for the interment of those of the enemy who were killed. Their own dead were treated with more honor, and they went in search of Monsieur Poulain to recite prayers for them pending their burial.

They made much of the bravest. Almost everybody had been brave at the last moment; and yet, throughout the day they constantly found poor dazed creatures, still cowering behind wood-piles or in the dark corners of sheds, where they would have allowed themselves to be burned or suffocated without a word, they were so completely paralyzed by fear.

Amid all these scenes, tragic and grotesque, Bois-Doré and Guillaume were untiring inf their activity. Although ghastly and heart-rending sights met their eyes at every step, they were urged on by that somewhat feverish enthusiasm which always follows the happy ending of a great crisis.

What they had to deplore and regret was a mere trifle compared with what might have happened.

The marquis had remounted his horse in order to perform his charitable duties more quickly; his costume was incomprehensible to most of those who saw him pass. He still wore his cook's apron, now a mere rag, it is true, and stained with blood; so that many of his vassals thought that he had tied a strip of a banner about his waist as a symbol of victory. His long moustaches had been scorched in the fire, and Master Pignoux's oilskin cap, crushed under the hat that Bois-Doré had hurriedly donned, came down to his eyes; they thought that he was wounded in the head, and he was constantly met with anxious inquiries whether he was in much pain.

As the first spadefuls of earth were thrown on the dead bodies, one of them remonstrated. It was La Flèche, who declared that he was not quite dead.

The amateur grave-diggers were not much inclined to listen to him; but Mario happened to pass not far off and overheard the discussion. He ran to the spot and ordered them to disinter, the poor wretch. The order was obeyed with reluctance, but, despite all his seignioral authority, he could not induce anyone to take him to the hospital.

They all disappeared on various pretexts, and Mario was obliged to go in search of Aristandre, who obeyed without a murmur, and returned with him to the place where the dying gypsy lay on the moist, blood-stained ground.

But it was too late. La Flèche was lost beyond recall. He was hardly breathing; his haggard, staring eye indicated that his last moment was at hand.

"It is too late, monsieur," said Aristandre to his young master. "What would you have! It was I who crushed him, and I was not gentle about it; but it wasn't I who stuffed his mouth with dirt and stones to stifle him. I should never have thought of that."

"Dirt and stones?" repeated Mario, looking with horror and amazement at the gypsy, who was actually suffocating. "He spoke just now! he must have gnawed at the ground in his struggle against death!"

As he leaned over the wretched creature to try to relieve him, La Flèche, whose face already wore the pallor of a corpse, moved his arms as if to say: "It is useless; let me die in peace."

Then his arm fell with the forefinger extended, as if he were pointing to his murderer, and so remained, stiffened by death, which had already quenched the light of his eyes.

Mario's eyes instinctively turned in the direction indicated by that horrible gesture, and saw no one. Doubtless the gypsy, as he breathed his last, had seen a vision bearing some relation to his melancholy and evil life.

But Aristandre's attention was attracted by the fresh prints of tiny feet on the clayey soil. Those footprints were on all sides of the body, and seemed to indicate a trampling or stamping around the head; then they led away from the spot in the direction in which the gypsy's finger still pointed.

"There are some terrible children, eh?" said the honest coachman, calling Mario's attention to the marks. "I know that these gypsies are viler than dogs, and perhaps it was poor Charasson's boy, who, seeing that you were trying to save this beast, determined to finish him this way in order to avenge his father! It's a devilish invention all the same, and it is quite right to say that evil leads to evil."

"Yes, yes, my good friend," said the horrified Mario; "you understand that a dying man is no longer an enemy. But look in the bushes over there; isn't that little Pilar hiding?"

"I don't know who little Pilar is," Aristandre replied, "but I know that that little hussy is the one whose life I saved last night. See, there she goes again. She runs like a genuine cat. Do you recognize her now?"

"Yes," said Mario, "I know her too well, and it is clear that the evil one is in her. Let her go, coachman, and may she go far away from here!"

"Come, monsieur, don't stay in this horrible place," rejoined Aristandre. "I will put this villain's body underground, for the dogs and the crows scent him already, and monsieur le marquis would not like to have it lying around on his land."

Mario, being utterly exhausted, went to take a little rest.

When he had slept an hour in a chair, beside his dear Moor, who pretended to sleep in order to set his mind at rest, he began anew to go about the château and through the village, bearing assistance and consolation, accompanied by the lovable and unselfish Lauriane.

The marquis, having hastily repaired his toilet, received the lieutenant of the provost, and, with the assistance of Messieurs d'Ars and Coulogne, set forth the facts to the magistrates whose duty it was to do prompt and signal justice.

LX

The day was advancing.

The tranquillity of fatigue reigned in the village and the château. Mario and Lauriane, on returning from their round, craved a breath of fresh air, and went into the garden, the only part of the enclosure which had not been profaned by acts of violence and devastation.

As he told his friend in detail his own adventures, which she had not previously had time to comprehend, they arrived at the _Palace of Astrée_, in the labyrinth, where he had passed such an agitated hour during the preceding night.

The weather was mild. The two children sat down on the steps of the little cottage.

Mario, although he was not ill, had a touch of fever in his blood. Such a succession of violent emotions had matured him suddenly, as it were, and Lauriane, on booking at him, was struck by the expression of melancholy resolution which had so changed his sweet and transparent glance.

"My Mario," she said, "I fear that you are ill. You have been afraid and courageous, tired and untiring, happy and unhappy, all at once, during this last horrible night; but it is all passed. Master Jovelin assures us that Mercedes is safe, and she declares that she hardly, suffers at all. You saved our dear papa Sylvain's life and avenged your poor father's death. All this has transformed you into a noble, gallant youth; but you must not keep those folds on your brow, but think rather about thanking God for the assistance He gave you in this affair."

"I do think about it, my Lauriane," Mario replied, "but I am thinking also of something my father said to me this morning, after which you kissed me and said: 'Yes, yes.' I did not understand it, and you must explain it to me. My father said that I had _earned the right to hope to please you_. Does that mean that I have not pleased you hitherto?"

"No, indeed, Mario; you please me immensely, for I love you dearly."

"Good! But, when my father says sometimes laughingly that I shall be your husband, do you think that that might happen?

"Really, I do not know, Mario, but I hardly think so. I am two or three years older than you, and when you are a young man I shall be what might be called an old maid."

"And yet, Lauriane, Adamas told me that you married your cousin Hélyon, who was three or four years older than you. Did he ever blame you for being too young for him?"

"Why, yes, sometimes, before our marriage, when we played at quarrelling."

"Well, I think that he was wrong; I think that you are neither young nor old, and I shall always think that you are just right, because I shall always love you the way I love you now."

"You don't know anything about it, Mario; it is said that one's heart changes with one's age."