awaited their
approach, and soon recognised Roberval's Picard escort, and the
fluttering skirts of the women. If the men in ambush were waiting for
them they were doomed, unless he could warn them. To pass from his
hiding meant almost instant death, but it must be risked; so he began
slowly to make his way towards the road, and was soon at the very edge
of the grove. When De Roberval was within a hundred yards he put spurs
to his horse, which, seeming to scent danger, made a dash forward past
the lurking-place of the assassins. The Spaniard and his comrades were
so taken by surprise that for a moment they did not realise his
intentions; but De Narvaez, with an oath, exclaimed: "It is De
Pontbriand; shoot the dog down!" Their petronels rang out, but the
clumsy weapons shot wide of the mark, and in a trice Claude was with his
friends, who, alarmed by the firing, and the wild rush of the
approaching rider, had come to a sudden standstill. Before they had time
to question De Pontbriand the Spaniards were upon them, and with fierce
shouts and drawn swords dashed into the group which now formed a
protecting body about Marguerite, Marie, and Bastienne. There was a
sudden checking of careering steeds, a clashing of weapons, a heavy
falling of wounded men, and three of De Roberval's party and one of the
foe lay in the dust. As De Narvaez shot past he placed his petronel
against his breast and fired point blank at De Roberval, but
quick-witted Bastienne, who saw his intention, struck her master's horse
on the nose, and the animal, careering wildly, received the contents of
the charge in the heart. The Spaniards rapidly returned to the attack.
There were now but five of them opposed to the three Picards who
remained with Claude and Roberval, and they expected an easy victory.
Two of the Picards fell before their attack, and De Roberval himself was
struck down by a fierce sabre blow which dinted his helmet. Claude found
himself hard pressed by two of the ruffians at once. It must end in a
moment.

But the shots which had been fired attracted a traveller who was always
eager for a fray. Just at the critical moment La Pommeraye's horse
turned the bend in the road. His accustomed eye took in the state of
affairs at once. His sword leaped from its sheath, and with an energy
which he seldom needed to exert he braced himself for the struggle. He
was upon Claude's assailants in an instant; one quick thrust and a burly
Spaniard fell forw