and I turned to
find at my elbow, his hair streaming back from his brow, Antoine! The
lad's face and eyes flashed scorn at me. He waved his hand towards the
bridge.

"Coward!" he cried; and he struck me lightly on the cheek with his hand.
"Coward! Now follow me, if you dare!"

And, before any one could stay him, he darted from the shelter of the
gateway in which we stood; and raced on to the bridge. I heard a great
shout on our side, and the roar of a volley; but dully only, for,
enraged by the blow and the challenge, I followed him--I and a dozen
others. Some fell, but he ran on, and I after him. He snatched up the
petard and the hammer, I the spike. In a moment, as it seemed to me, we
were at the farther gate attaching the engine to it. I held the spike,
he hammered it; the smoke and the frowning archway, to some extent,
protected us from the fire of those above.

I often think of those few seconds with the pride and the garrulousness
of an old man. While they lasted we stood alone, separated from our
friends by the whole length of the third span of the bridge. For a few
seconds only indeed; then, with a yell of triumph, the remains of
Henry's "forlorn" rushed forward, and though many fell, enough came on.
In a trice eager hands took the engine from us, and secured the fuse
effectually and lit it, and bore us back--I was going to say, out of
danger; but alas! as a deafening crash and a blaze of light proclaimed
the way open and the last gate down, he who had done the deed, and
opened the way, fell across me, shot from a loophole! As the rain of
fragments from the gate fell hissing and splashing in the stream that
flowed below, and while the foot streamed over the bridge, and pressed
through the breach, Antoine gave a little gasp, and died on my knee.

The rest all men know; how through five days and nights we fought the
great street-fight of Cahors; how we took no rest, save against walls
and doorways, or in the courts of houses we had won; how we ate and
drank with hands smirched with blood, and then to it again; how we won
the city house by house, and foot by foot, until at last the white flag
waved from the great tower, and France awoke with a start to know that
in the young prince of pleasure, whom she had deemed a trifler, was born
the shrewdest statesman and the boldest soldier of all her royal line.

And Antoine? When I went, after many hours, to seek him, the horse had
crossed the bridge, and even his bod