"Back with you!" he cried. "To your places among the rocks!"
The mountaineers had seen the Cossacks fall, and all the old hatred that had sent their fathers to the Rhine in '92, again sprang to life in their veins. They rushed from out their shelter, regardless of danger. They heard Simon's voice, but did not understand his order, their rage deafened them. They had hitherto been amenable to discipline, but they were intoxicated by victory. It seemed to them that they could crush the invasion then and there. In vain did Simon shout "Halt!" They went on, and reached the rock.
"I don't like this," said Simon. "This retreat of the Cossacks looks like a ruse. Our men must go no further."
Then took place a horrible thing. The peasants were trying to crowd through the narrow passage by the rock. They were in such haste that they formed a struggling mass. Then from the dark corner rose the gipsy with the Judas face, and glided to the corner where hung the torch arranged by Simon. Presently, there was a little flash of light, and the gipsy threw himself far down the slope, just as a fearful explosion was heard. The rock split and fell upon the peasants. Of these valiant patriots only five remained—seven with Michel and Simon. They all stood nailed to the ground with horror.
And back came the Cossacks at full gallop. The rock had cut off all retreat. These seven men were between the barred-up gorge and the Cossacks.
Michel was the first to fall pierced by a lance. Simon realized that these men will reach his home, his wife and children, before he was nailed to the trunk of an oak by a Cossack's sword, and now Simon is dead!
Over this body of this hero, rolls the horrible flood that is to engulf France.
Talizac, Simon's brother, had said that the invasion should take this direction!