Poising a half-loaf of bread on the ledge of the roof, he began to slowly toll the cracked bell at his hand for Rullecour the filibuster.
The bell clanged out: Chicane-chicane! Chicane-chicane!
Another bell answered from the church by the square, a deep, mournful note. It was tolling for Peirson and his dead comrades.
Against the statue in the Vier Marchi leaned Ranulph Delagarde. An officer came up and held out a hand to him. "Your shot ended the business," said he. "You're a brave fellow. What is your name?"
"Ranulph Delagarde, sir."
"Delagarde—eh? Then well done, Delagardes! They say your father was the first man killed. We won't forget that, my lad."
Sinking down upon the base of the statue, Ranulph did not stir or reply, and the officer, thinking he was grieving for his father, left him alone.
ELEVEN YEARS AFTER
CHAPTER V
The King of France was no longer sending adventurers to capture the outposts of England. He was rather, in despair, beginning to wind in again the coil of disaster which had spun out through the helpless fingers of Neckar, Calonne, Brienne and the rest, and was in the end to bind his own hands for the guillotine.