"Whom have you here?" asked De Montigni, as his eyes fell upon the group just arrived, who were now entering the farm, with the wounded man borne in the midst. But, ere any one could answer, coming up the road from the other side, as if seeking a ford across the stream, were seen a body of some thirty horse, with a young and graceful man at their head. The farm-house hid them from the young Baron and the lady till they had passed the angle; but then the green scarfs mingled with black, too plainly showed to what party they belonged. They rode fast, but not at the headlong speed of fear; and, when they saw the marks of a ford, the leader paused, marshalled his men to pass two and two, and then looked round him with a calm deliberate air. His eyes instantly lighted upon De Montigni his attendant and Rose d'Albret, for the farmer had retreated into the house; and, exclaiming "Halt!" to those who were passing the ford, the officer of the League spoke another word or two to a gentleman near him.
De Montigni drew Rose rapidly to the door of the farm, and pushed it violently with his hand; for by this time it was closed, and the good farmer, seeing the arrival of the troop, had barred and bolted it as before. In vain De Montigni looked about for a place of refuge: they were shut in between the bank, the wall of the garden, and the ford; and in an instant they were surrounded by the horsemen.
"Ha, ha! we shall not go without some prisoners at least," cried the leader of the troop, "your sword, Sir, your sword--it is vain contending."
De Montigni hesitated; but he was seized in a moment; and while Rose clung in agony to his breast, his sword was snatched from his side, and a pistol levelled at his head.
"Surrender, or die!" cried a fierce-looking man, who had sprung to the ground beside him. "We have no time to waste upon Huguenots."
"We are no Huguenots," replied De Montigni, "but faithful Catholics, though servants of the King. I surrender, as it needs must be so; but, of course, you will let this lady retire into the house--you do not make war upon women, I suppose."
"That depends upon circumstances," replied the leader, who had now come up. "Your name, Sir?"
"The Baron de Montigni," replied the young nobleman.
"We are in luck," exclaimed the leader, turning to one of his companions; "then this fair lady is Mademoiselle d'Albret?"
Rose only replied by her tears; and the leader continued, turning to De Montigni, "Mount your horse, Sir, and follow! You are a prisoner of war, and shall be treated as such. The lady shall be restored to those from whose care you took her. No words; for time is short--Have you a litter or a horse for the lady?"