"'Tis one of Coligny's gentlemen," I exclaimed, "he has come on the same errand as myself. There were three or four of us."

The wounded cavalier looked into my face. "Le Blanc!" he said feebly; "it is all right," and with that his head fell forward, and he dropped dead across his horse's neck.

"A brave and gallant gentleman!" exclaimed Count Louis. "France should be proud of her sons!"

Lifting him from his horse, we laid him on the plain and turned away.

On that awful day no one had leisure for sorrow; the sorrow would come afterwards.

It was useless now attempting to return to the Admiral, so I joined my English comrade.

"You are hurt?" I said anxiously.

"A trifle; no more. Where is Bellievre?"

"With the Admiral. Coligny is badly wounded. We have lost the battle."

"There is time to gain the victory yet!"

"You do not understand. The army is gone; it is a mere mob, utterly helpless; we are the only troops left. The royalists are slaying at their pleasure."

"In that case," said he gravely, "we have serious work before us. Who was the n.o.ble old man killed in the last charge?"

"The Count of St. Cyr, one of the bravest gentlemen in the Huguenot army. It will grieve the Admiral sorely to hear of his death."

"He was a splendid soldier. Ah, the bugles are sounding. Edmond, my friend, I fear the worst of the day is still to come."

My English friend was right. What had gone before was the play of children compared with what followed. We had the whole force of Anjou's army opposed to us. Hour after hour we retreated, fighting every step of the way. Of the eighteen thousand Huguenots who had marched out to battle it seemed as if we alone remained. Again and again the royalists bore down in overwhelming numbers; their heavy guns ploughed lanes through our ranks; the arquebusiers pelted us with bullets unceasingly; the hors.e.m.e.n charged with desperate fury.

But in spite of everything we held together; for if we once gave way the doom of our beloved general was sealed.

"Remember, brave hearts," cried Count Louis, "that we are fighting for the Admiral! We must die for Coligny!"

He himself displayed the most wonderful bravery; nothing daunted him; beset by death on every hand he remained cool and resolute, rallying us after every onset, rousing the faint-hearted by his own indomitable courage.

At last the blessed darkness came to our relief. The rain of bullets ceased; we no longer heard the thundering beat of galloping horses in our rear, were no longer called to face about in order to repel some fierce cavalry charge. The pursuit had stopped; the victors had returned to celebrate their triumph.

We marched on in the darkness of the night, gloomy and weary. Some were too tired and dispirited even to talk; others--but only a few--grumbled bitterly at their leaders, telling each other that if this or that had been done, we should have gained the victory. Many of the poor fellows were badly hurt; some sank exhausted to the ground, from which they would never rise again.

At Parthenay we overtook the Admiral and the few troops he had been able to collect. When morning came, Felix was one of the first to meet me, and I had never seen him so down-hearted. His bright smile, his happy, cheery looks had all gone; he hung his head in shame.

"It is terrible, Edmond," he said; "the Cause is ruined, and we are disgraced. I would rather we had all died on the field."

"Nonsense!" I replied, endeavouring to hearten him; "we are of far more use alive than dead. And to be beaten is not to be disgraced. Had you seen the Count of St. Cyr die you would not use that word. But what of our chief? Is he seriously wounded?"

"His jaw is broken by a pistol-shot."

"Yet I warrant he has not given way to despair!"

"No," he replied with something of his old brightness, "a Coligny does not despair."

"Nor does a Bellievre!" I returned smiling. "We shall rally the runaways in a few days, and Coligny will command an army again."

The defeat was, however, a heavier one than I guessed, and only Anjou's folly saved us from utter destruction. Instead of hunting us down with his whole force he turned aside to besiege St. Jean d'Angely, and thus gave our leaders time to form fresh plans. Strong garrisons were sent to defend Niort and Angouleme, while the main part of the beaten army retired to Roch.e.l.le.

It was a dismal entry into the town. The citizens came to meet us, the men sullen and downcast, the women white-faced and weeping. Many were searching eagerly among the war-worn band for the dear ones they would never meet again on earth. On that dreadful day scores of women learned for the first time that they were already widowed, and that their helpless little ones were fatherless.

Opposite the hotel I perceived Jeanne and my mother, and on seeing me their faces lit up with happy smiles. I could not go to them then, but the instant my duties permitted I ran again into the street. They were still in the same place, waiting.

"I thank G.o.d for this blessing, my son," said my mother. "I feared I had lost you for ever. Let us hasten home; you are weary and faint."

"But are you not hurt, Edmond?" cried my pretty sister. "Oh, how my heart ached at sight of those poor wounded men! They must have suffered torture on their long march!"

"Did Jacques not find you?" my mother asked presently.

"Yes, he was with me at the beginning of the last battle, but I have not seen him since. He may have escaped though, for all that; numbers besides ourselves got away. Bellievre is safe, and so is Roger Braund.

They have acted like heroes!"

"I saw them both," said Jeanne, blushing prettily; "Monsieur Braund has been wounded."

"Yes," I replied laughing, "he will need a skilful nurse. But where is my father? Is he not still in Roch.e.l.le?"

"No," said Jeanne with a sigh, "an order came from the Admiral three weeks ago for him to take fifty men to St. Jean d'Angely. I know it is selfish, but I wish Edmond, oh, I wish he could have stayed with us. It seems to me there is no safety outside the walls of Roch.e.l.le."

"Roch.e.l.le may be as dangerous as any other place," I remarked, not caring to let them know that Monseigneur was marching on St. Jean d'Angely. "But here we are at the house; does my aunt still keep her room?"

"Yes," replied Jeanne with a smile, "though I believe her illness is more fanciful than real. But she is very good and kind, and we humour her fancies."

It was very pleasant to be home again; to see the loving looks and to receive the tender caresses of my mother and sister. They were eager to hear what had happened, and the tears came to their eyes as I described the sufferings of my gallant comrades. They were brave, too, and instead of being crushed by our defeat looked forward to happier times.

"Perhaps the king will stop the cruel war," said my mother hopefully, "and let us worship G.o.d in peace. How can he think we wish to harm our beautiful France? We ask so little; surely he could grant us our modest request.

"I believe he would if it were not for his mother," I said, "and she is afraid of the Guises. They are hand in glove with the Pope and the Spaniards."

"Will Monseigneur try to capture Roch.e.l.le?" asked Jeanne.

"It is very likely, but he will not succeed; Roch.e.l.le can never be taken by an enemy."

I stayed very late with them that night, for there were many things to talk about, and they were so glad to see me that even at the end I was loth to depart.

The next day my comrades, who purposely stayed away on the previous evening, accompanied me home, and were made much of by my mother and Jeanne.

These occasional visits were like oases in a dreary desert. We tried to banish all thoughts of the war, and to talk as cheerfully as if there were no misery in the land. But for Felix and me these days of happy idleness speedily came to an end. There was much to be done, and Coligny needed our services. Instead of being cast down by his reverse at Montcontour, our leader was already planning a gigantic scheme which should help to repair our broken fortunes.

Meanwhile the garrison at St. Jean d'Angely was offering a splendid resistance to the enemy. Anjou was pressing the siege with vigour, King Charles himself was in the trenches--I never held, as some of my comrades did, that the king was a coward--but the handful of troops defied the royal brothers and all their force.

One morning as our chief came from his chamber, the ante-room being filled with his gentlemen and the leaders of the army, he stopped and laid his hand with a kindly touch on my shoulder.

"My young friend," he said, "we are all proud of your father. The reports from St. Jean d'Angely declare that he is the very heart of the defence."