He hurried away from me and was soon preparing for the attack in a manner which bespoke his skill in warfare. Four men were sent across the valley to the heights beyond to watch the road by which Fronsac and I had come, and so guard against surprise. A hundred men were massed opposite the great gate of the château, and two parties of perhaps fifty passed out of sight behind either wing. A moment later an order came to the men who were guarding me, and I was led towards the group that stood about the other prisoners.
I saw Fronsac looking towards me with joyful face, and then he stooped and whispered a few words into the ear of Mademoiselle. What they were I could only guess, but she arose from the log on which she had been sitting and turned her bright face towards me. Then, for the first time, I caught the full power of her beauty, and as I looked I did not wonder that d’Aurilly should turn traitor or Fronsac risk his life for her, since in their hearts there was no other face like that which lived in mine.
“So you still live, Marsan!” cried my friend, as the group parted to let me through. “But I am glad!” and he came towards me, holding out his hands.
My heart warmed to him anew as I hastened forward to grasp them, but one of the guards stepped in between.
“No talking!” he said gruffly. “It is M. le Duc’s order.”
I felt my cheek crimson at his insolence, and for an instant my hands itched to be at his throat, but I caught Fronsac’s eyes fixed on me warningly, and realized that no good could come of violence. So we sat down with Roquefort’s man between us and watched the attack on the château with feelings I need not describe.
Events had gone forward there even in the few minutes my attention had been drawn away. The force at the main gate had armed themselves with a great log, and, even as we turned towards them, a pistol-shot gave the signal which put it in motion. At the same instant a great uproar arose behind the château, proving that the attack had begun there also. The men with the log moved slowly at first, but faster and faster as they gathered momentum. As they neared the gate a dozen muskets were fired from the walls, and some few of Roquefort’s men fell, but the forward rush did not pause nor waver. Plainly the garrison of the château was too small to make effective resistance, and my heart fell within me. What if I had done wrong in keeping Roquefort here? What if M. le Comte should, after all, arrive too late? You can guess the agony of the thought!
On and on swept the rush, and the log was hurled against the gate with a tremendous crash. In a moment it was caught up again like a wisp of straw, borne backward, and hurled forward. I saw a group of the assailants linger at the gate, then suddenly scurry away from it. There came a flash of flame, a roar, and a great cloud of smoke whirled skyward.
“A petard!” cried Fronsac. “They have fired a petard!”
As the smoke passed, we saw that one of the gates had been blown inward, but the other still hung by its bars. With a cheer, the assailants rushed forward. It was over then! I had lost M. le Comte his wife and his château! Now, indeed, would he have cause to hate me!