"At him!" cried Henry, coming up. "Quick, quick, De Mouy!"
De Mouy needed no encouragement.
Again he charged at Maurevel; but the latter had not waited.
Pressing his left hand over his wound, he again took to flight.
"Kill him! Quick! Kill him!" cried the king, "here are the soldiers, and the despair of cowards is of no moment to the brave."
Maurevel, who was well nigh exhausted, whose every breath caused a bloody perspiration, fell down; but almost immediately he rose again, and turning on one knee presented the point of his sword to De Mouy.
"Friends! Friends!" cried Maurevel. "There are only two. Fire at them! Fire!"
Saucourt and Barthélemy had gone in pursuit of the other soldiers, down the Rue des Poulies, and the king and De Mouy were alone with the four men.
"Fire!" cried Maurevel again, while one of the soldiers levelled his gun.
"Yes, but first," said De Mouy, "die, traitor, murderer, assassin!" and seizing Maurevel's sword with one hand, with the other he plunged his own up to its hilt into the breast of his enemy, with such force that he nailed him to the earth.