To leap over the hedge at a bound; to seize the archer by the throat with one hand, while with the other he drew his sword—these were the rapid moves of the Franc-Taupin. It was too late. The alarm given by the soldier was heard. Several other foot soldiers, who came on the cruppers of the mounted archers, and were posted around the walls, hurried to the spot, preceded by a sergeant, and all cried in chorus:
"Kill all who resist! Keep only the monk and the nun alive!"
A melee ensued in the semi-darkness of the night. After superhuman efforts to tear his daughter from the soldiers, Christian was hewed down with a sword. Ernest Rennepont and Hena remained in the hands of the armed men. After almost strangling the soldier who had given the alarm, the Franc-Taupin profited by the darkness to creep on hands and feet to a hedge under which he blotted himself from sight. From his hiding place he heard Christian drop to the ground and call out in a fainting voice: "I am killed—help! help!"
The artisan was left for dead by the archers. Obedient to the orders from their chief, their main object was the capture of the monk and the nun, whom they now carried safely away. Little by little silence returned to the sequestered region. Soon the sound of a retreating troop of horsemen announced the departure of the archers for Paris. The Franc-Taupin emerged from his place of concealment, ran to Christian, knelt beside him, opened his coat and shirt soaked in blood, and placed his hand upon his heart. He felt it beat.
"There is but one chance of safety for Christian," said the Franc-Taupin to himself. "If the gardener has not been arrested, he will consent to grant asylum to the wounded man. Let me endeavor to snatch my brother-in-law from death—after that, I swear, you shall be avenged, Oh, my sister! Avenged shall be also your daughter, whose horrid fate I well foresee!"
Michael and his wife consented to take in the wounded man, and nurse him in Robert Estienne's house. The latter and the pastor were taken prisoners to Paris by the archers.
CHAPTER XIX.
ON THE ROAD TO PARIS.
On the 21st of January, 1535, a few weeks after the seizure of Hena Lebrenn and Ernest Rennepont at the cottage of Master Robert Estienne, two riders crossed the Charenton bridge on their way to Paris. Master Raimbaud, the armorer, one of the riders, was a man in robust middle age, and of an open and resolute countenance. His headgear consisted of a broad-brimmed felt hat; he wore a coat of mail over his jacket, and large traveling boots on his sturdy legs. A cutlass hung from his side, his holsters were furnished with pistols, and his wide brown coat flowed down over the crupper of his horse. The other rider, Odelin Lebrenn, was then just fifteen. His candid and pleasant features, slightly browned by the sun of Italy, recalled those of his sister Hena. A black bonnet, ornamented with a little red feather and placed slightly aslant over the lad's blonde hair, left wholly exposed the smiling face that radiated with increasing joy in the measure that he approached the end of his journey. The apprentice and his master were at that moment ascending a steep hill, at a steady pace. Despite the steepness of the hill, however, Odelin's mount frequently broke out into a trot, surreptitiously urged thereto by the spurs of the boy. Master Raimbaud smiled under his brown beard, as he guessed the cause of Odelin's impatience, while he himself kept his own horse well in hand. He had just once more baffled the innocent manoeuvre of his apprentice, who had run ahead:
"Well, Odelin," he called after him, "there is your horse again breaking out into a trot. One would think he'd got the devil at his heels."
"Master Raimbaud, it is not my fault," answered the youngster, somewhat abashed, and reining in, to his regret. "My horse forces my hand. It must be the flies that torment him. That's why he runs ahead."