“Do you know me, monsieur? It is I Jacques.”

“Jacques?” I repeated dreamily. “Where are we? What are we doing here? My head aches; I feel stiff all over. Where is the letter? Ah, I remember now. We won the battle, Jacques?”

“Yes, monsieur. It was a great victory. Monseigneur’s troops were completely routed.”

I closed my eyes and lay thinking. By degrees it all came back to me; the Admiral’s message, De Courcy’s wild charge, the terrible conflict, the flight of the royalists, and then ! I had a strange half-consciousness of having been raised from the ground and carried some distance, but of what had really happened I had no definite knowledge.

But how came Jacques into the picture? Surely he was not at Roche Abeille! I opened my eyes and saw him bending over me and looking eagerly into my face.

“Jacques,” I said, “what are you doing here?”

“Nursing you, monsieur,” he answered cheerfully. “I got to Rochelle just after you had started, and followed the army; but the battle was over when I reached Roche Abeille.”

“How did you find me?”

“I went to the Admiral’s gentlemen. They said you were killed, and that your friend Monsieur Bellievre was distracted, and there was another gentleman, an Englishman, who looked very unhappy. But we fetched a surgeon, who patched you up, and we carried you here.”

“Where, Jacques?”

“The city of Limoges, monsieur. You are lodged at a comfortable inn, and now you have talked enough.”

“One more question, my good Jacques; how long have I been here?”

“Three days, monsieur. Now I will get you some nourishing food, and afterwards you must sleep.”

The next morning, finding I was much stronger, Jacques was willing to answer further questions. Felix had come through the fray unscathed, and Roger Braund was only slightly wounded. Anjou, he said, had been thoroughly defeated, and there was already talk of the end of the war.

“And where are the troops now?” I asked.

“They marched in the direction of Poictiers. It is rumoured that the Admiral intends to besiege the town.”

“It may be so,” I observed doubtfully, “but it is hardly likely. That is the mistake Monseigneur made after Jarnac.”

“Well,” replied Jacques with a smile, “it cannot interest monsieur very much for the next three or four weeks.”

He had quite recovered from his own wounds, and was full of praise of the Count St. Cyr, who had treated him with the greatest kindness.

“The count is a noble gentleman,” he remarked, “and full of zeal for the Cause. He is bringing his retainers to aid the Admiral.”

“He is an old man, too,” I said musingly.

“But with all the fire of a boy, monsieur.”

“Have you heard that a price has been set on my father’s head?” I asked presently.

“Yes,” and the worthy fellow’s face clouded over with passion, “that is Etienne Cordel’s handiwork.”

“But we have done the man no harm!”

“He hates your father, monsieur; and, besides, Le Blanc is a fine property. Monseigneur and the Italian woman are deeply in his debt, and that would be a simple mode of payment. ’Tis easy to give away what does not belong to one. Many Huguenot estates have changed hands in that way.”

I thought Jacques was exaggerating the case, but not caring to argue the matter I said no more, and turning round dropped off into a refreshing sleep.

For a fortnight longer I lay in bed, and then the surgeon, who came every day, allowed me to get up. My head was still dizzy, and my legs tottered under me, but, leaning on Jacques’ arm, I walked slowly up and down the room. The next morning, still attended by my faithful servant, I went downstairs and out into the street, and from that day I fast began to recover my strength.

There was not much news of the war, beyond the fact that the Huguenots were besieging Poictiers, a piece of information that I was sorry to hear, since it seemed to me they would fritter away their strength for nothing. The Admiral, however, doubtless possessed good reasons for his actions, and in any case it was not for me to question his wisdom.

I was able now to walk without assistance, and even to sit in the saddle, though not very firmly, and I felt eager to rejoin my comrades. But to this neither Jacques nor the surgeon would consent, so I continued to while away the time in the quaint old town as patiently as possible. But, as the weeks passed and my strength returned more fully, life in Limoges became more and more insupportable, and I finally resolved to travel by easy stages to Poictiers.

The news we gathered on the journey was by no means reassuring. Coligny had failed to capture the town; he had lost several thousand good troops, and had raised the siege. Equally discomforting was the information that Anjou was in the field again with a strong and well-equipped army.

“We seem to have gained little by our victory,” I said disconsolately.

“We shall do better after our next one,” said Jacques cheerily. “We learn by our mistakes, monsieur.”

The rival armies had apparently vanished. From time to time we obtained news of Coligny, but it was very vague, and left us little the wiser. One day he was said to be at Moncontour, another at Loudun; on a third we were told he was retreating pell-mell to La Rochelle, with Anjou hot on his heels.

Within a few hours’ ride of Loudun we put up for the night at a small inn. Jacques attended to the animals one of us generally saw them properly fed while I gave instructions to the landlord concerning our supper. He was an old man, almost as old as Pierre, and he had such a peculiar trick of jerking his head in answer to my remarks that I almost feared it would come right off.

“I am sorry, monsieur, I will do my best; but the larder is empty. I will kill a fowl; there is one left; but monsieur will be under the disagreeable necessity of waiting.”

“We are sharp set,” I said. “Is there no cold meat in the house?”

“Monsieur, the troopers have devoured everything.”

“Whose troopers?” I asked sharply.

“Whose but Monseigneur’s!” replied the old man; “but they did not remain long; they were busy hunting down the heretics.”

After asking a few more questions, I sent him away to catch and cook our supper, and then discussed his information with Jacques. From the old man’s story we gathered that the Duke of Montpensier was marching south with a division of the royal army in pursuit of our comrades.

“Between Montpensier and Anjou we are in an awkward situation,” I said. “We have overshot the mark.”

“That is true, monsieur; we must turn back, if we wish to join the Admiral; but our animals are tired.”

“We will give them a few hours’ rest, and start early in the morning.”

“If the supper is cooked by then!” answered Jacques slily.

There seemed to be some little doubt about that, but finally our host, who had been scouring the village, returned in triumph with provisions for an ample meal.

Awake soon after dawn, we fed the animals, broke our own fast, and, having settled the score, started off on the highroad to Poictiers.

It was, by the position of the sun, about nine o’clock in the morning when we perceived a horseman approaching us. He appeared in a desperate hurry, and was spurring his horse vigorously.

“Jacques!” I exclaimed, “this is a soldier of some sort. Will he be coming from Montpensier, think you?”

“Likely enough, monsieur.”

“If so, he may carry important news, and his information may be of service to the Admiral. It should be easy for us to obtain it.”

“True, monsieur; he will never dream of danger.”

“But we must not hurt him, Jacques; mind that.”

“Nothing more than a tap on the head,” said Jacques, “if he should prove obstinate.”

The rider came along at a swinging pace. He was a young fellow, richly dressed, and of a handsome appearance.

“Good news, monsieur!” I cried, riding toward him. “Do you carry good news?”

It was evident that he had not the slightest idea of meeting with an enemy in the rear of Montpensier’s troops. He drew rein, saying, “Are you from Monseigneur? I am bearing him welcome information. Coligny is retreating, we fell on his rear just now and drove it in. Ah, ah, ’tis a rich joke! He thinks Monseigneur himself is here with the whole army.”

“While ’tis only Montpensier with a division!” I said, laughing. “Where shall we find the Duke?”

“An hour’s ride, not more; but I must be going. Monseigneur waits to make his plans.”

The next instant Jacques had clutched his bridle rein, while the young fellow was gazing in blank astonishment along the barrel of my pistol.

“’Tis a disagreeable necessity, monsieur,” I remarked, speaking very harshly, “but you are our prisoner. Tie the horses’ reins together, Jacques, and remove this gentleman’s weapons. Do not stir, monsieur, it would be foolish. A cry or a movement will cost your life. We must have that despatch which you are carrying to Monseigneur.”

“Who are you?” he asked.

“We belong to the Huguenot army, and have met you by a stroke of good fortune. And now the document, monsieur! Will you surrender it? Or will you compel us to search you? That is an undignified proceeding, and will not help you at all.”

“No,” he agreed gloomily; “I am in your power. But this is a sorry trick; I would rather you had forced the paper from me at the sword’s point. It would have been more creditable to your honour.”

“That may be so, but meanwhile we await the paper.”

Finding himself helpless, he handed me the document with the best grace he could muster, and I immediately placed it inside my doublet.

“Now,” I exclaimed cheerfully, “we are in a hurry to reach our comrades, but we have no wish to ride into the midst of the Duke’s troops. In order to avoid that calamity, we will make you our guide; but pray be careful, because in the event of a mistake you will be the first victim. My servant is an old soldier, while I have had some practice with the pistol. But this is a disagreeable subject; let us dismiss it.”

“With all my heart,” said he, laughing. “And now what would you have me do?”

“Put us on the track of our comrades, and prevent us from falling into the Duke’s hands.”

“That is,” said he, “to return good for evil. Well, ’tis something of a novelty for me.”

“You should practise it more frequently,” I laughed, and with that we rode on, our prisoner being in the middle.

I hardly thought he would venture his life by misleading us of set purpose, yet for all that I rode cautiously, keeping my eyes open for any sign of the enemy. But either by good luck or our prisoner’s skilful guidance and it matters little which we entirely avoided the Royalist army, and came up with our own troops just as they had halted for a short rest.

Being instantly challenged, I gave my name to the officer, and asked where the Admiral was to be found.

“I will take you to him,” said he, and he led us through the camp, walking by the horse’s side.

Coligny was eating his frugal meal, but he glanced up at our approach, and the officer said, “Edmond Le Blanc, general, who claims to belong to your household.”

“Le Blanc!” echoed the Admiral, knitting his brows he had doubtless forgotten me “ah, of course; you have been absent from duty a long time.”

“I had the misfortune to be left behind at Roche Abeille, my lord.”

“Ah, I remember. You are Bellievre’s comrade, and you carried my message to De Courcy. So you have recovered?”

“Yes, my lord; but I have something important to say. I have had the good luck to capture a messenger carrying a despatch from the Duke of Montpensier to Monseigneur.”

“To Monseigneur!” and, turning to my prisoner, he said, “Is he not with the troops who attacked us?”

“I do not know the customs of your gentlemen, my lord,” he replied, with a low bow, “but it is not our practice to betray secrets to an enemy.”

“A proper answer,” said the Admiral, with more slowness of speech even than usual, “and a just reproof. But this paper should tell what I wish to learn,” and he broke the seal.

“Montpensier’s division alone,” he muttered; “this is valuable information. Le Blanc, can we be sure of this?”

“It is certain, my lord, that Monseigneur’s troops are not present, though I believe they are hurrying to join with the Duke’s.”

“There will be just time,” he said, “just time,” and, leaving his meal, he instantly summoned his principal officers.

As soon as my interview with him was over a dozen of my old comrades crowded around, congratulating me on my recovery, and asking all sorts of questions. Several familiar faces were missing, and I learned that more than one of my intimate friends had been left behind in the trenches at Poictiers. Felix, happily, was unhurt, and he informed me that Roger Braund was still with the little troop of Englishmen.

“But what of your prisoner?” he asked. “Has he given his parole?”

“No, I fancy he is rather counting on the chance of escape.”

“Then he must be placed under guard. I will attend to it, and return in a few minutes. Well, Jacques, has your master been very troublesome?”

“Not since we left Limoges, monsieur.”

We were preparing to look for Roger when the bugles sounded, the men sprang to arms, and orders were issued for the retreat to be resumed.

“I don’t like this,” grumbled Felix, “it breaks the men’s spirits. Our rearguard came running in to-day like a parcel of sheep. I wish the Admiral would fight; it will be too late after a while. It is not pleasant to be chased as if we were rabbits.”

The royalists were in full view now, and the faster we marched the more closely they pressed the pursuit. It was very galling, and many a murmur was heard even against our noble leader, but none from those who rode with him in the rear. Twice we turned and faced the enemy, but, on each occasion, after a few minutes’ conflict the order was issued for further retreat.

At length we reached the summit of a gentle slope, behind which flowed the River Dive. Here it seemed as if the Admiral intended to make a stand, but the royalists gave him little leisure for forming plans. They advanced boldly, taunting us for runaways, and bidding us muster sufficient courage to cross swords with them.

A volley from our German foot-soldiers checked their rush, and, while they were endeavouring to re-form, a body of horse crashed, as if shot from a gun, into their left flank. The noble St. Cyr, erect and soldierly, in spite of his four score and five years, led the charge, and a rousing cheer broke from us at sight of the gallant veteran.

But there was little time for cheering. “Charge, my children!” cried the Admiral, “charge, and strike home! For the Faith!”

“For the Faith!” we echoed lustily, spurring our horses, and dashing into the fray.

Hammered by St. Cyr on the left, by the Admiral in front, by the young princes on the right, the royalist horse reeled and staggered. Again and again they tried to rally; but we rode them down, broke the groups as soon as they re-formed, drove them pell-mell on to their infantry, and then with one grand rush tumbled the whole division into ruin.

“Forward! Forward!” cried the hot-bloods. “Remember Jarnac!” “Remember Conde!” “Cut them down!”

But a wild pursuit formed no part of the Admiral’s plans; he wished to cross the river unmolested, so the bugles were sounded, and we came dropping back, laughing and cheering, and in high spirits at our brilliant little victory. As with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes we ranged ourselves around our brave leader some one cried out, “See, what is going on over yonder!”

In a corner of the field, some distance off, a number of royalists had rallied round a flag. Something strange was happening; the flag disappeared, came into view again, and once more sank from sight. Then in one spot the crowd gave way as if burst asunder, and out from the gap leaped a horseman. He was carrying the flag, and he rode straight toward us. A dozen men started in pursuit, but he outdistanced them easily, turning from time to time and waving the flag as if in derision.

We gazed in astonishment at the spectacle, wondering what it meant, until Felix cried out, “’Tis the Englishman! ’Tis Roger Braund. He has captured the flag!”

A great roar of cheering went up as he approached us, his helmet gone, his face bleeding, his doublet slashed, but his eyes smiling cheerfully. With an easy grace he jumped from his horse, and advancing on foot presented the trophy to the Admiral.

“A memento of the battle-field, my lord,” he said, with a courteous bow.

Coligny took the flag, and with a rare smile handed it back, saying, “Monsieur, it could not remain in worthier hands! Let it be carried in the ranks of your gallant countrymen, to whom we owe so much.”

Roger bowed again. “The memory of your praise my lord,” said he, “will nerve us to deserve it.”

As we rode back toward the river, every one tried to get near him, to shake his hand, to praise him for his deed of daring. And in truth it was a splendid action! Single-handed, he had charged into the press; single-handed he had wrested the trophy by from its custodian; and, still alone, had fought his way out. It was a brilliant feat, which we of the Religion talked of round many a camp fire. And that it was done by one who was not our countryman did not lessen our admiration.