The Marquis shook his head through the noise of the volley which interrupted the speaker.
“But, Gilbert,“ urged the Vicomte, coming closer and dropping his voice, “have you not thought that if they are not soon dislodged they may bring up artillery? Once or twice I have heard the unmistakable report of a gun from the direction of Chantonnay. Of course it may be Charette, one can’t tell; but if the guns were all lost but two—— Anyhow, as things go now the château is useless for fugitives, and,”—he dropped his voice still further, “the Blues are thinning us down, while we don’t seem to be making much impression on them.”
As if to point his words there was a crash behind him, and a Venetian mirror fell in fragments to the floor. A second later a marksman by one of the windows threw out his arms, and twisting rapidly round, staggered half across the room and fell at their feet.
While Gilbert and M. des Graves bent over him Louis very coolly went to one of the unshuttered windows and peered out into the dusk.
“Come back, you madman!” shouted Gilbert; “I have lost two men at that window already!”
“I was only reconnoitring,” urged Louis, as he was dragged away. “But it is too dark to see anything. So much the better. . . . Now will you give me twenty men?”
“No.”
“You think I should get knocked on the head?” queried the Vicomte, laughing. “You should know my luck better than that, mon ami; I have a charmed life, you know. Besides, better a few out there than all in here. Am I not right, Father?”
“You may be right,” began the Marquis, “but——” He never finished the sentence. Across it came a sound which made an end of it and of his opposition for ever, a sound which caused every window in the house to rattle—the deep, sullen boom of a heavy gun. It might have been a couple of miles away.
“There!” exclaimed Louis almost exultantly.