"I stand sponsor for this man's claim!" de Bornais cried, and the men who had stood behind him drew their swords as their chief did, and ranged themselves with him at the foot of the dais.
Other swords leaped from their scabbards in a moment, and women screamed and scattered, fleeing to the side doors of the hall, men pressing back to let them go. Only Christine stood immovable, and Countess Elisabeth made a sudden step forward as though she would go to Felix's help. So round the dais men waited ready to attack or to defend, but no one moved to strike the first blow.
At the end of the hall by the great doors it was different. There was Barbier with his guard, and at a sharp command from the captain they began to move to Felix's rescue. At that moment Jean sprang to his feet in the embrasure of the window, a lighted torch, which spluttered and flared up, in his hand. There was the crash of broken glass, and as he flung the burning torch into the square below, he shouted in a voice that rang high above the tumult:
"Long live Roger the Duke!"
For one instant the cry seemed a solitary one, doomed to die in its own echoes, but the next an answering roar came from the square below, such a rage of sound that even Barbier's men paused.
"Cut down that grinning fool from the window," shouted Barbier, "and forward to the Duke!"
Whatever his faults, Barbier was a brave man. Had Felix had more like him, the situation might have been saved even at this eleventh hour. But his men hung back, and did not strive with a will against the pressure of the crowd. Barbier alone fought his way through all obstacles, and threw himself, sword in hand, upon de Bornais' men. One stumbled, wounded slightly in this onslaught, and then Barbier's sword rattled to the floor, and with a catch in his breath he flung out his arms and fell backward through the crowd which pressed aside to let him go—dead.
"So he pays for his attack on Maurice," whispered Herrick to the man whose arm he still held.
Few moments had elapsed since the Count had raised his arm to strike, and since Barbier had fought and fallen, other swords might well have been crossed in anger had not the roaring from the square held men back. There was a force around them which there was no withstanding, and the cry of "Roger the Duke" now rang in the castle itself, in the court-yards, and in the corridors. Armed men, shouting the cry, rushed into the hall, headed by Gaspard Lemasle, and in the court-yard was a compact throng of men of Vayenne with Pierre Briant at their head. Barbier was dead in the hall, and one or two who had attempted to defend the castle had been struck down, killed or grievously hurt, that was all. The success of the conspirators was complete.
"Treachery triumphant," Felix said as Herrick let go his arm. "The day is to traitors, Christine."