"De Fresne?"
"Killed, I think. I saw him go down. The Imperialists were all posted there—they must have known!" And he half broke into a sob. "Oh, L'Oiseleur, L'Oiseleur . . . !"
"We will go back to the bridge," said Aymar, turning his ghastly face away. "My children——"
A man suddenly scrambled down the high bank into the road, a huge Breton, breathless and bloodstained. "I saw you, L'Oiseleur, from the field. We are making for the forest again. You have heard what happened? God's truth, if we could find the man who did it! My nephew lies there. . . ."
"We will go back and avenge him," said Aymar quickly. "How many men have you over there, Magloire? Bring them into the road. Have they all their muskets?"
"Go back!" ejaculated the giant. "You are mad, Monsieur le Vicomte! After the trouble we have had in getting away as many as we have! The place is a shambles, more or less!"
"Magloire is right," said young de Soulanges. "You were not there. Believe me, it is of no use! The front ranks were eaten up—those that were not killed. Besides," he added, sinking his voice and pulling with a bleeding hand at his leader's arm, so that L'Oiseleur bent his head, "besides, I doubt if you could get them to follow you!"
And looking round the men whose moods he knew so well L'Oiseleur saw that this was probably true. It would have been a terrible blow, had he been capable of feeling it.
"Very well," he said between his teeth, "then I shall go alone. Stand back, please!"
The boy clung all the tighter. "La Rocheterie, you are our only hope! Don't desert us! Oh, don't do that! It is suicide . . . and to what purpose?"