who had meanwhile been
endeavouring to stem the tide of battle elsewhere, observed their
plight, and, collecting a band of devoted adherents, made a gallant
attempt at rescue.

Raoul, evidently thinking this a fine opportunity to seize the prince,
spurred into the open; I raced after him quickly, others followed, and
crying, "Down with Conde!" charged in a body at the princely rebel.

While some of his friends rescued the survivors at the barricade, the
others rode in our direction. With a ringing cheer we sprang at them,
struck out furiously right and left, spurred our horses into the
throng, pierced it in every direction, till finally it fell apart.
Disdaining meaner foes, Raoul rode at the prince, engaging him in
deadly combat. He still wore the King's gift on his breast, and fought
as if he were the monarch's sole champion. Whether he was Conde's
equal in swordsmanship I cannot say, but he kept the prince well
employed.

Suddenly, as they fought, the roar of La Ferte's guns broke out, and we
had the enemy at our mercy. Conde, as if recognising this, began to
withdraw, and Raoul was pressing on more vigorously when a rebel
horseman, spurring toward the gate, cut him down. I saw the tragedy
distinctly, but could do no more than utter a warning cry, which, alas,
my comrade did not hear.

How the Parisians by opening the gate and letting the rebels through
robbed us of victory, the world knows, but at the moment I cared
little. All my hopes and fears were centred in Raoul, and, heedless of
the dropping bullets, I rode across to the spot where he lay. He was
in terrible pain, stricken I feared unto death, but his wonderful
courage remained unbroken, and he did not even murmur when, with the
assistance of some trusty comrades, I carried him to one of the empty
houses.

The fight was over now; Conde's troops had escaped into the city; the
sullen roar of the guns died away; men thought only of succouring the
wounded who dotted the ground in large numbers. A kindly surgeon,
hearing of Raoul's plight, hurried to the room where we had placed him,
but at the first glance he shook his head sorrowfully, and I knew there
was no hope.

"An hour, or two at the most," he whispered to me. "The best physician
in France could do no more than ease his pain."

He did what he could and went his way, for there were many who needed
his services; the soldiers, too, had departed, and I alone remained to
watch my friend die.