cross it with less
interruption than he could have expected, for the cry of "To the western
tower!" had carried off one body of the assailants, and another was
summoned together, by war cry and trumpet sound, to assist in repelling
a desperate sally, attempted by the defenders of the keep, who had hoped
to cut their way out of the castle, bearing the Bishop along with them.
Quentin, therefore, crossed the garden with an eager step and throbbing
heart, commending himself to those heavenly powers which had protected
him through the numberless perils of his life, and bold in his
determination to succeed, or leave his life in this desperate
undertaking. Ere he reached the garden, three men rushed on him with
levelled lances, crying, "Liege, Liege!"

Putting himself in defence, but without striking, he replied, "France,
France, friend to Liege."

"Vivat France!" cried the burghers of Liege, and passed on. The same
signal proved a talisman to avert the weapons of four or five of La
Marck's followers, whom he found straggling in the garden, and who set
upon him crying, "Sanglier!"

In a word, Quentin began to hope that his character as an emissary of
King Louis, the private instigator of the insurgents of Liege, and the
secret supporter of William de la Marck, might possibly bear him through
the horrors of the night.

On reaching the turret, he shuddered when he found that the little side
door, through which Marthon and the Countess Hameline had shortly before
joined him, was now blockaded with more than one dead body.

Two of them he dragged hastily aside, and was stepping over the third
body, in order to enter the portal, when the supposed dead man laid hand
on his cloak, and entreated him to stay and assist him to rise. Quentin
was about to use rougher methods than struggling to rid himself of this
untimely obstruction, when the fallen man continued to exclaim, "I am
stifled here, in mine own armour!--I am the Syndic Pavillon of Liege! If
you are for us, I will enrich you--if you are for the other side, I will
protect you, but do not--do not leave me to die the death of a smothered
pig!"

In the midst of this scene of blood and confusion, the presence of mind
of Quentin suggested to him that this dignitary might have the means of
protecting their retreat. He raised him on his feet, and asked him if he
was wounded.

"Not wounded, at least I think not," answered the burgher, "but much out
of wind."

"Sit down, then