But all was not over for the unfortunate young man. On arriving on the staircase, he saw arms shine in the courtyard; some one fired, and the ball pierced his shoulder. The court being guarded, he thought of the little window, where Diana had said she would sit to see the combat, and as quickly as he could he dragged himself there, and locked the door behind him; then he mounted the window with great difficulty, and measured the distance with his eyes, wondering if he could jump to the other side.
“Oh, I shall never have the strength!” cried he.
But at that moment he heard steps coming up the staircase; it was the second troop mounting. He collected all his strength, and made a spring; but his foot slipped, and he fell on the iron spikes, which caught his clothes, and he hung suspended.
He thought of his only friend.
“St. Luc!” cried he, “help! St. Luc!”
“Ah, it is you, M. de Bussy,” answered a voice from behind some trees.
Bussy shuddered, for it was not the voice of St. Luc.
“St. Luc!” cried he again, “come to me! Diana is safe! I have killed Monsoreau!”
“Ah! Monsoreau is killed?” said the same voice.
“Yes.” Then Bussy saw two men come out from behind the trees.