'Because Jacqueline loved you once,' he murmurs under his breath.
Then he turns to his faithful Jehan. 'You were just in time,' he says simply.
Jehan has been glancing down with mingled rage and contempt on the man whom in his loyal heart he hated in life with a wellnigh ferocious intensity. Now he looks at his master—his friend whom he loves—sees him on one knee by the side of that abominable murderer, trying to struggle back to his feet, but evidently weak and dizzy.
With a cry like an enraged tiger, Jehan casts his still streaming lance away, is already kneeling beside Gilles, supporting him in his arms as gently as a mother would shelter her child.
'H-h-h-hurt?' he stammers laconically. 'That d-d-d-devil hit you?'
'Only in the thigh,' replies Gilles. 'You diverted his aim right enough, my dear Jehan! And once more I owe my life to you. Just help me to get up,' he adds with his wonted impatience. 'Do not let me miss another second of the glorious spectacle of our victory!'
III
Out in the western sky, a vivid band of blue and gold breaks the bosom of the clouds. The afternoon sun illumines with its glowing rays the final rout of the Spanish army. Le Carpentier's laconic words tell us more than any lengthy chronicle could do.
'The Duke of Parma,' he says curtly, 'abandoned his forts and retired in haste to Valenciennes.'
So much that was mighty and great and invincible has succumbed before the power which comes from a sense of justice, from valour and enthusiasm and the decrees of God. God has decided that Cambray has suffered enough; He has broken the might of Parma and set an end to the miseries of an heroic people. And when, like a tidal wave of steel, the Spanish troops begin to oscillate toward the north, where lies Valenciennes and safety, up on the ramparts of Cambray hundreds of men and women and children fall on their knees, and thank God with fervour for their freedom and for victory.