ighting and considerable loss.

As soon as the intense cold had driven both armies to the shelter
of the towns, the count said to Francois:

"You and Philip had better march at once, with your troop, to
Laville. It will cost far less to maintain them at the chateau,
than elsewhere; indeed the men can, for the most part, return to
their farms.

"But you must be watchful, Francois, now that a portion of Anjou's
army is lying at Poitiers. They may, should the weather break, make
raids into our country; and as Laville is the nearest point to
Poitiers held for us, they might well make a dash at it."

The countess welcomed them back heartily, but expressed great
disappointment that the season should have passed without the
armies meeting.

"It was the same last time. It was the delay that ruined us. With
the best will in the world, there are few who can afford to keep
their retainers in the field for month after month; and the men,
themselves, are longing to be back to their farms and families.

"We shall have to keep a keen lookout, through the winter.
Fortunately our harvest here is a good one, and the granaries are
all full; so that we shall be able to keep the men-at-arms on
through the winter, without much expense. I feel more anxious about
the tenants than about ourselves."

"Yes, mother, there is no doubt there is considerable risk of the
enemy trying to beat us up; and we must arrange for signals, so
that our people may have time to fall back here. Philip and I will
think it over. We ought to be able to contrive some scheme between
us."

"Do so, Francois. I feel safe against surprise here; but I never
retire to rest, without wondering whether the night will pass
without the tenants' farms and stacks being set ablaze, and they
and their families slaughtered on their own hearth stones."

"I suppose, Francois," Philip said to him as they stood at the
lookout, next morning, "there is not much doubt which way they
would cross the hills, coming from Poitiers. They would be almost
sure to come by that road that we travelled by, when we went to
Chatillon. It comes down over the hills, two miles to the west.

"There it is, you see. You just catch sight of it, as it crosses
that shoulder. Your land does not go as far as that, does it?"

"No, it only extends a mile in that direction, and four miles in
the other, and five miles out into the plain."

"Are there many Huguenots on the other side of the hill?"

"Yes