"In the name of God, Gaspar of Montsoreau!" exclaimed his brother, at length, "what is it that you mean? What Lady? Where is Mademoiselle de Clairvaut? What madness has seized upon you now?"
Gaspar of Montsoreau took a step forward, till he almost touched his brother, and demanded in a voice that was loud, but that trembled with passion, "Did I not see your page, that very page who is holding your horse now--that very page, who was pointed out to me by one that knows him well, as your bought bondsman--did I not see him--can you deny it?--did I not see him with the reiters at the moment that they charged down the hill upon us? And then I saw him by your side five minutes after, when you came pretending to assist us."
"The man's mad, or drunk!" said the boy aloud; but Charles of Montsoreau turned upon him sharply, exclaiming, "Hush! Remember, sir, he is my brother!"
"I am sorry that he is, sir," replied the boy. "He might see me near the reiters, but he never saw me with them, for I had been watching them for half an hour, concealed behind a great mass of bushes, and not daring to stir for my very life, till I saw them begin to ride down the hill, when I came out and galloped as fast as I could to tell my noble Lord, and bring him up to attack them.--Out upon it!--Pretending to help any one, when there is scarcely a man in the troop unwounded!--Out upon it!--Pretending to attack the reiters, when he has well nigh cut them to pieces, and not left two men together of the whole band!"
The boy spoke loud and indignantly, and at the joyful news of the marauders being cut to pieces, a glad shout burst from the town's people, who had gathered round, listening with no small surprise to the dispute between the two brothers.
"For Heaven's sake, Gaspar," said Charles of Montsoreau, "govern your feelings for a few minutes. I am here on the service of the noble Duke of Guise, and set out from Logères only three days ago. I had heard of the reiters by the way, and determined to fight them if I met them. The first moment that I saw or had any communication with them--on my honour and on my soul!-was that when I ordered my men to level their lances, and charge them in the flank. You have nothing to do but either to look at the banks of the stream, where they lay by dozens, to speak to the prisoners I have brought in, or to take one glance into those litters and those carts that carry my own wounded, to show you that it was no feigned strife, as you have wildly fancied, that went on between us. And now believing this, and feeling that you have done me wrong, tell me where is Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, for your words alarm and agitate me concerning her? Where is she, Gaspar? I say where is she?"
"I know not," said the Marquis, turning sullenly away, "I know not, Charles. In the last charge of the reiters, which happened nearly at night-fall, they drove us beyond the carriage, and I have seen no more of her. The Abbé, however, was with her, and he has not come up either; two or three of the men, too, were there."
"Bring up the prisoners," exclaimed Charles of Montsoreau, with a degree of agony of mind that it is impossible to conceive. "These men can give us information, for we took them on the road just now.--Bring up those prisoners."
With their arms tied, and their heads uncovered, the three Germans, who had endeavoured, as was customary with many of their bands, to make themselves look as fierce and terrible as possible, by suffering their hair and beards to grow in confused and tangled masses, were now brought before the young commander; and gazing sternly upon them, he said, "You are here not as fair and open enemies, but as plunderers and marauders, after the generals who brought you here have retreated from the land, and entered into a treaty with the King of this country. Your only way, then, of obtaining any portion of mercy is, by answering the questions I am going to ask you distinctly and truly; for if I catch the slightest wavering or falsehood in your replies, I will have you shot one by one within the next five minutes, as a just punishment for the crimes that you have committed."
His words seemed to make little or no impression upon men accustomed to the daily contemplation of death. They all seemed to understand him, however, though it was with difficulty that they answered him in his own language, mingling German with French, so as to render it nearly unintelligible.