But the laugh died away upon his lips when the page hurriedly interrupted: "Twenty at least."
Lagardere was staggered but emphatic. "Nine, duke, nine. I saw them, counted them, know them."
The page was equally emphatic. "They have got help since you came. There are smugglers hereabouts, and they have recruited their ranks from them."
Lagardere grunted. "Ungentlemanly," he protested, and then addressed Nevers: "Well, duke, we can manage ten apiece easily." He turned to the boy and gave him some quick instructions. "Creep through the wood behind the castle to the highway. Run like the devil to the cross-roads, where my men wait. Tell them Lagardere is in danger. They may be here in a quarter of an hour."
The boy answered him, decisively: "They shall be."
Lagardere patted him on the back. "Good lad," he said, and the boy darted from his side and disappeared into the darkness.
Lagardere turned to the duke. "There is no chance of escaping now without a scuffle," he said; "we must fight it out as well as we can. You and I, duke, ought not to think it a great matter to handle ten rascals apiece in this fighting-place, if only we intrench ourselves properly."
As he spoke he laid his precious bundle reverently in the hay-cart, where it seemed to sleep as peacefully as if it were in its native cradle, and began piling up the great masses of the bundles of hay in front of him to form a kind of rampart.
Nevers looked at him in astonishment. "Do you stand by me?"
Lagardere answered him cheerfully. "I came here to fight with you. I stay here to fight for you. I must fight somebody. I lose by the change, for it is a greater honor to fight Monsieur de Nevers than a battalion of bravos, but there is no help for it."