“At that sound the blood to my heart returns,

And fiercely I struggle on to my knees!

Never must Enguerrande’s orphaned one

Fall into such miscreant hands as these!

To my feet and away, ere the roaring mob

Can hunt back the wounded wretch who flees!

“Doubling upon them, and first to gain

The little chamber wherein she slept,

Where, roused from repose by the horrid din,

In the darkest corner she cowered and wept,