"Those are Vavel's Volons," said De Fervlans, taking a look through his glass. "I recognize the uniform from Jocrisse's description. Madame Themire has turned traitor, and sent the count to deal with me instead of coming herself. Very good! We will show the gentleman that war and star-gazing are different occupations. He was a soldier once; but I don't think he paid much attention to military tactics, else he would not have neglected to occupy yon hill, on which I see a peasant woman with a red kerchief over her head. That is an old soda-factory—I know the place well. I should n't wonder if Vavel had concealed some men there after all! That small body coming this way is evidently bent on a skirmishing errand. Well, our tactics will be to lure him from his concealment."
He held a consultation with his subordinates; after which he turned toward the waiting demons, and called:
"Signor Trentatrante!"
The man came forward—a true type of the gladiator of the Vatican.
"Dismount," ordered the marquis. "Take thirty men, and proceed on foot to the farther side of yon thicket, where you will lie in ambush until I have begun an assault on the soda-factory over yonder. The men in hiding there will show up when we approach; I shall then pretend to retreat, and lure them toward the thicket. You will know what to do then—fall upon them in the rear. When you have arrived at the thicket let me know. Set fire to that tallest clump of reeds near the willow-shrubs."
"All right!" returned the signor. Then he selected thirty of his companions, who also dismounted, and they started at once to obey the orders of their leader.
The "peasant woman with a red kerchief over her head," who was standing on the soda-factory hill, called in a low, clear tone to Ludwig:
"De Fervlans is coming with his troop."
"Then we must prepare a greeting for him," responded Vavel. He ordered his men into their saddles, then sallied forth with them to meet the enemy.
The two bodies of soldiers moving toward each other were very nearly alike in numbers. Neither seemed to be in a particular hurry to begin an assault. Suddenly a column of smoke rose from the thicket near the bridge—it was the signal De Fervlans was waiting for. He gave orders to halt. The next instant there was a rattling salute from the demons' carbines. The "peasant woman" on the hill covered her face with both hands and shivered. The messengers of death flew about the head of her lover, but left him unharmed.