hers
with me! Now forward, men, and show your teeth! A Tavannes! A
Tavannes! A Tavannes! We carry it yet!"

And he dashed forward, leading them on, leaving the women behind; and
down the sward to meet him, thundering in double line, came Montsoreau's
men-at-arms, and with the men-at-arms, a dozen pale, fierce-eyed men in
the Church's black, yelling the Church's curses. Madame's heart grew
sick as she heard, as she waited, as she judged him by the fast-failing
light a horse's length before his men--with only Tignonville beside him.

She held her breath--would the shock never come? If Badelon had not
seized her rein and forced her forward, she would not have moved. And
then, even as she moved, they met! With yells and wild cries and a
mare's savage scream, the two bands crashed together in a huddle of
fallen or rearing horses, of flickering weapons, of thrusting men, of
grapples hand-to-hand. What happened, what was happening to any one, who
it was fell, stabbed through and through by four, or who were those who
still fought single combats, twisting round one another's horses, those
on her right and on her left, she could not tell. For Badelon dragged
her on with whip and spur, and two horsemen--who obscured her
view--galloped in front of her, and rode down bodily the only man who
undertook to bar her passage. She had a glimpse of that man's face, as
his horse, struck in the act of turning, fell sideways on him; and she
knew it, in its agony of terror, though she had seen it but once. It was
the face of the man whose eyes had sought hers from the steps of the
church in Angers; the lean man in black, who had turned soldier of the
Church--to his misfortune.

Through? Yes, through, the way was clear before them! The fight with
its screams and curses died away behind them. The horses swayed and all
but sank under them. But Badelon knew it no time for mercy; iron-shod
hoofs rang on the road behind, and at any moment the pursuers might be on
their heels. He flogged on until the cots of the hamlet appeared on
either side of the way; on, until the road forked and the Countess with
strange readiness cried "The left!"--on, until the beach appeared below
them at the foot of a sharp pitch, and beyond the beach the slow heaving
grey of the ocean.

The tide was high. The causeway ran through it, a mere thread lipped by
the darkling waves, and at the sight a grunt of relief broke from
Badelon. For at the end of t