abelle, I have no weapon left save my sword, but
since I cannot fight for you, I will fly with you. Could we gain yonder
wood that is before us ere they come up, we may easily find means to
escape."

"So be it, my only friend," said Isabelle, pressing her horse to the
gallop, "and thou, good fellow," she added, addressing Hans Glover, "get
thee off to another road, and do not stay to partake our misfortune and
danger."

The honest Fleming shook his head, and answered her generous
exhortation, with Nein, nein! das geht nicht [no, no! that must not be],
and continued to attend them, all three riding toward the shelter of the
wood as fast as their jaded horses could go, pursued, at the same time,
by the Schwarzreiters, who increased their pace when they saw them fly.
But notwithstanding the fatigue of the horses, still the fugitives
being unarmed, and riding lighter in consequence, had considerably the
advantage of the pursuers, and were within about a quarter of a mile
of the wood, when a body of men at arms, under a knight's pennon, was
discovered advancing from the cover, so as to intercept their flight.

"They have bright armour," said Isabelle, "they must be Burgundians. Be
they who they will, we must yield to them, rather than to the lawless
miscreants who pursue us."

A moment after, she exclaimed, looking on the pennon, "I know the cloven
heart which it displays! It is the banner of the Count of Crevecoeur, a
noble Burgundian--to him I will surrender myself."

Quentin Durward sighed, but what other alternative remained, and how
happy would he have been but an instant before, to have been certain
of the escape of Isabelle, even under worse terms? They soon joined the
band of Crevecoeur, and the Countess demanded to speak to the leader,
who had halted his party till he should reconnoitre the Black Troopers,
and as he gazed on her with doubt and uncertainty, she said, "Noble
Count--Isabelle of Croye, the daughter of your old companion in arms,
Count Reinold of Croye, renders herself, and asks protection from your
valour for her and hers."

"Thou shalt have it, fair kinswoman, were it against a host--always
excepting my liege lord, of Burgundy. But there is little time to talk
of it. These filthy looking fiends have made a halt, as if they intended
to dispute the matter.--By Saint George of Burgundy, they have the
insolence to advance against the banner of Crevecoeur! What! will not
the knaves be ruled? Damian,