A soldier in the brilliant uniform of M. de Rochfort’s regiment.
With a little exclamation the Duke drops to his knees.
He reaches his hand into the water and carries it to his lips.
Salt!
His wild surmise is confirmed. He gives a quick cry—
“The sea! the sea!”
Suddenly the French trumpets break into the stillness; they proclaim alarm, confusion, terror, a retreat.…
The water is rising; covering the causeway.
The gleaming cuirass and blue uniform are tangled in the alders; the soldier’s head jerks as if he heard the trumpet-call.
My lord gets to his feet. His mantle slips back from his splendid dress; he claps his hand to his sword, though no sword shall avail against this.…