When De Fervlans heard the firing in the neighborhood of the trench, he
believed it to come from the muskets of his own men, and quickly sounded
an attack. The demons, who had been feigning to retreat, now turned and
met their pursuers, and a hand-to-hand conflict began.

Vavel also had heard the firing behind him, and believed himself
surrounded by the enemy. He beckoned to his trumpeter, to whom he wished
to give orders to sound a retreat, but the man's horse unfortunately
stumbled, and threw his rider to the earth. Three demons, at once sprang
to capture the fallen trumpeter; but Vavel, who knew how necessary the
man was to him, hastened to his assistance.

De Fervlans in amazement watched this unequal encounter. A masterly
conflict arouses admiration even in an enemy; and Vavel certainly
proved himself a master in the art of fighting.

He fought in cold blood; he was not in the least excited. He made no
unnecessary thrusts, but wounded his three adversaries in the hand, the
elbow, the forearm, whereby he rendered them incapable of further
combat. De Fervlans saw how his skilled demons gave way before Vavel's
masterly thrusts, while the Volons drew their unfortunate trumpeter from
beneath his horse, and assisted him to mount again, after they had also
helped the horse to his feet.

But the trumpet was now useless; it was filled with mud. Consequently a
signal for retreat could not be sounded.

A dense mass of wild-hop vines inclosed the eastern side of the scene of
action. De Fervlans glanced impatiently toward this green wall. The
armed men who should penetrate it would decide the victory.

Even as the thought flashed through his brain, the tangle of vines began
to shake violently; but the first man to appear therefrom was not Signor
Trentatrante, as De Fervlans had expected, but Satan Laczi, with his
ferocious followers.

The attack from this point was so unexpected that De Fervlans for a
moment seemed stupefied; then quickly recovering himself, he dashed into
the thick of the fight, Vavel following his example. By this time the
trumpet had been cleansed, but no orders were received for a retreat
signal; instead, the sound it shrilled above the fearful turmoil was:
"Forward! forward!"

With the blood pouring from a gaping wound in his head, Satan Laczi,
swinging a saber he had captured from a foe, now rushed to meet De
Fervlans, who at once recognized the former robber.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, preparing to m