"But without any order from me!" retorted La Renaudie, warmly. "However, the die is cast, and it makes no difference now. Forward, my friends, forward!"
He turned toward his men as he spoke, and Pardaillan, not to be taken by surprise, did the same, and also shouted, "Forward!"
The firing began.
Gabriel, however, remained motionless between the red and the white, the Royalists and the rebels. He scarcely even drew his horse aside, but sustained the fire of both parties.
At the first volley the plume of his helmet was cut through by a ball, and his horse killed under him.
He extricated his feet from the stirrups and stood in the same spot without a tremor, and like one dreaming in the midst of that terrible affray.
The supply of powder was soon exhausted; and the two little bands rushed forward, and continued the combat with their swords.
Gabriel, amid all the clashing and clanging, never stirred from his place, nor did he once lay his hand upon his sword; he simply stood gazing at the mad blows which were raining about him, as if he had been the image of France among her foes.
The Protestants, inferior in numbers and in discipline, began to falter.
La Renaudie in the tumult found himself face to face with Pardaillan once more.