A haughty smile spread over his noble features; for it was the definitive assurance of his victory that he saw approaching.
"Hold!" he cried in the midst of the mêlée to those who surrounded him. "Calais surrenders! Down with your arms!"
He raised the visor of his helmet, and putting spurs to his horse, rode forward a few paces with his eyes fixed on the white flag, the symbol of his triumph and of peace.
Darkness, moreover, was beginning to fall, and the uproar had not ceased.
An English man-at-arms, who probably had not seen the flag of truce nor heard amid the din the Duc de Guise's order to his men, sprang at his horse's rein, and threw him back upon his haunches; and as the absorbed duke, without so much as noticing the obstacle which thus arrested his progress, drove the spurs in again, the trooper struck him in the face with his lance.
"I was not able to learn," continued Jean, "what part of Monsieur de Guise's face was struck; but it is certain that it is a terrible wound. The handle of the lance broke off, and the iron remained in the wound. The duke, without a word, fell forward upon the pommel of his saddle. It seems that the Englishman who dealt the fatal blow was torn to pieces by the furious French soldiers; but alas! that could not help Monsieur de Guise. He was carried from the field like one dead. Since then he has not regained consciousness."
"So that Calais is not ours?" asked Gabriel.
"Oh, indeed it is!" replied Jean. "Monsieur le Duc de Nevers received the flag of truce, and imposed most advantageous conditions, like a conqueror. But the gain of such a city will hardly compensate France for the loss of such a hero."
"Mon Dieu! Do you look upon him as already beyond help, then?" said Gabriel, shuddering.
"Alas! alas!" was the weaver's only reply, with a sorrowful shake of the head.