“In that case, I’m your man.”
“I can trust you—you are a true Frenchman?”
“I am an old soldier of Rocroy, my lord.”
“Here,” said the prince, handing him a purse, “here is for Rocroy. Now, do you want a horse, or will you go afoot?”
“Afoot, my lord; I have served always in the infantry. Besides, I expect to lead your highness into places where you will have to walk.”
“Come, then,” said the prince; “let us lose no time.”
The peasant started off, running before the prince’s horse; then, a hundred steps from the village, he took a narrow road hidden at the bottom of the valley. For a half league they proceeded thus, the cannon-shot sounding so near that they expected at each discharge to hear the hum of the balls. At length they entered a path which, going out from the road, skirted the mountainside. The prince dismounted, ordered one of his aids and Raoul to follow his example, and directed the others to await his orders, keeping themselves meanwhile on the alert. He then began to ascend the path.
In about ten minutes they reached the ruins of an old chateau; those ruins crowned the summit of a hill which overlooked the surrounding country. At a distance of hardly a quarter of a league they looked down on Lens, at bay, and before Lens the enemy’s entire army.
With a single glance the prince took in the extent of country that lay before him, from Lens as far as Vimy. In a moment the plan of the battle which on the following day was to save France the second time from invasion was unrolled in his mind. He took a pencil, tore a page from his tablets and wrote:
“My Dear Marshal,—In an hour Lens will be in the enemy’s possession. Come and rejoin me; bring with you the whole army. I shall be at Vendin to place it in position. To-morrow we shall retake Lens and beat the enemy.”