caught and reflected the last evening light; while as he spoke a man rose to his feet on the hillside above, and began to make signs to persons below. A pennon, too, showed an instant over the shoulder, fluttered, and was gone.
Badelon looked as they looked. The next instant he uttered a low oath, and dragged his horse across the front of the party.
“Pierre!” he cried to the man on his left, “ride for your life! To my lord, and tell him we are ambushed!” And as the trained soldier wheeled about and spurred away, the sacker of Rome turned a dark scowling face on Tignonville. “If this be your work,” he hissed, “we shall thank you for it in hell! For it is where most of us will lie to-night! They are Montsoreau’s spears, and they have those with them are worse to deal with than themselves!” Then in a different tone, and throwing off all disguise, “Men to the front!” he shouted. “And you, Madame, to the rear quickly, and the women with you! Now, men, forward, and draw! Steady! Steady! They are coming!”
There was an instant of confusion, disorder, panic; horses jostling one another, women screaming and clutching at men, men shaking them off and forcing their way to the van. Fortunately the enemy did not fall on at once, as Badelon expected, but after showing themselves in the mouth of the valley, at a distance of three hundred paces, hung for some reason irresolute. This gave Badelon time to array his seven swords in front; but real resistance was out of the question, as he knew. And to none seemed less in question than to Tignonville.
When the truth, and what he had done, broke on the young man, he sat a moment motionless with horror. It was only when Badelon had twice summoned him with opprobrious words that he awoke to the relief of action.
