on my trouble, and hewed down the knaves together as if they had been merely poppy heads. But Edmond who tried to cut his way through to me, got into a desperate mélée. Two dragoons fell upon him, and struck furiously; but before they were able to hit, behold, my dear friend—the little rascal Martin, cut down one of them from his horse, and shot the other at the same moment almost through the breast, as if the urchin had been accustomed to nothing else all his life long. The stout Lacoste, the dog as he styles himself, was not tardy either, and your son lost neither courage nor strength; the Camisards were like so many devils, and thus those of the true faith were obliged to leave the field to us, on which a great number of their friends remained lying.—I could not discern my poor, dear son; he may very likely have gone with the main body of the troops; if they have not already slain, or taken him prisoner."
"And Martin! the boy, of whom you spoke, who so valiantly saved my son’s life?" inquired the Lord of Beauvais.
