peasants were there in a solid mass. Gauvain had been successful in surprising them and failed in routing them. He had dismounted. Holding his sword in his hand, under his crossed arms, he stood in the flare of a torch which lighted up his battery, watching all this darkness attentively.
His tall figure in this bright light made him visible to the men behind the barricade. He was their aim, but he was not aware of it.
The discharge of bullets sent from the barricade fell all around Gauvain, who was absorbed in thought.
But against all these carbines he had the cannon. The cannon ball always gets the advantage. He who has artillery has victory. His battery, if made good use of, assured him the superiority.
Suddenly, there was a flash of lightning from the market so full of darkness, something like a peal of thunder was heard, and a cannon ball went through a house above Gauvain's head.
The barricade answered cannon shot with cannon shot.
What had happened? Something new. The artillery was no longer on one side alone.
A second cannon ball followed the first and buried itself in the wall near Gauvain. A third knocked off his hat.
These balls were of large calibre. They came from a sixteen-pounder.
"They are aiming at you, commandant," cried the artillery-men. And they put out the torch. Gauvain, as if in a dream, picked up his hat.
Some one indeed was aiming at Gauvain; it was Lantenac.
The marquis had just entered the barricade from the opposite side.
L'Imânus ran toward him.
"Monseigueur, we have been surprised."
"By whom?"
"I do not know."
"Is the road open from Dinan?"
"I think so."
"We must begin a retreat."
"It has begun. Many have already escaped."
