"How many are there in the garrison?" muttered Heraugiere.
"Three hundred and fifty," whispered the sentinel.
"How many?" eagerly demanded the nearest followers, not hearing the reply.
"He says there are but fifty of them," said Heraugiere, prudently suppressing the three hundred, in order to encourage his comrades.
Quietly as they had made their approach, there was nevertheless a stir in the guard-house. The captain of the watch sprang into the courtyard.
"Who goes there?" he demanded in his turn.
"A friend," again replied Heraugiere, striking him dead with a single blow as he spoke.
Others emerged with torches. Heraugiere was slightly wounded, but succeeded, after a brief struggle, in killing a second assailant. His followers set upon the watch who retreated into the guard-house. Heraugiere commanded his men to fire through the doors and windows, and in a few minutes every one of the enemy lay dead.
It was not a moment for making prisoners or speaking of quarter. Meantime Fervet and his band had not been idle. The magazine-house of the castle was seized, its defenders slain. Young Lanzavecchia made a sally from the palace, was wounded and driven back together with a few of his adherents.
The rest of the garrison fled helter-skelter into the town. Never had the musketeers of Italy—for they all belonged to Spinola's famous Sicilian Legion—behaved so badly. They did not even take the precaution to destroy the bridge between the castle and the town as they fled panic- stricken before seventy Hollanders. Instead of encouraging the burghers to their support they spread dismay, as they ran, through every street.