"Follow close, gentlemen! Trust me to clear a path!" cried a hearty voice, cheerful to the point of mirth, which thrilled my soul.
"Ay, follow him close!" cried the leader of the guardsmen; "follow the sword of La Tournoire!"
I could have shouted for joy, but that it was now worth while postponing death by minutes.
The noise of clashing swords increased and came nearer, as if the guardsmen were pouring in through the gateway and driving the defenders back toward the house. Now and then came the sound of a pike or reversed musket meeting steel armour, and all the time fierce exclamations rose from both parties. There was no more firing; doubtless the melee was too close and general for anybody to reload.
The men in the passage, as the tumult grew and approached, became as restless as dogs in leash that whine and jump to be in the fray. At last one of them ran into my room and looked out of the window.
"Death of the devil, how they are at it!" he cried, for the information of his comrades outside my door. "I think we shall be wanted in a minute or two. These cursed intruders have forced the gateway. Our fellows are twice as many as they, but their heads and bodies are in steel,—all but one, a middle-aged man with gray in his beard. He has no armour on, but he leads the others. Body of Satan! you should see him clear the ground about him. He thrusts in all directions at once: his sword is as long as a man, and it darts as quickly as the tongue of a snake. Ha! it has just cut down old Cricharde.—And now it has stung Galparoux.—Holy Beelzebub, what a man! He fights like a fiend, and all the time with a gay face as if he were at his sport.—Ah! there he has let daylight into poor Boirac.—But now—good!—at last our Captain has planted himself in front of this devil: it was high time: he will find his match now. By God, it will be worth looking at, the fight between the red Captain and this stranger,—there aren't two such men in France. They are taking each other's measure now,—each one sees what sort of stuff he has run against. Ah!"
What the last exclamation meant, I could not know. The man's attention had become too close for further speech. But I supposed that a pass had been made between my father and the red Captain, and that it had been nothing decisive, for the watcher's interest continued at the extreme tension: he kept his face against the iron bars of the window, and made no sound beyond frequent short ejaculations. The men in the passage called to him for further news, but he did not heed them. To my ears the fighting continued as general as before, with the shouts of many throats and the clash of many weapons, so that I could not at all distinguish the single combat between my father and the red Captain from the rest of the fray.
Presently the man gave a howl of rage. "Our Captain is being forced back!" he cried. "We are getting the worst of the fight everywhere. It's too much!—we are needed down there! To the devil with orders!—the Captain will be glad enough if we turn the tide. And we'd better try our luck down there than be taken here, for short time they'll give us for prayers, my children." While speaking he had moved from the window to my door.
"Certainly this prisoner is safe enough," answered one of the men, whereupon he and the others in the passage ran down the stairs.
But the man who had been at the window turned to me. "Safe enough,—yes, so it looks," said he. "Young man, the Captain must think you a magician, to take so much pains against your escaping. If it came to the worst, I was to kill you, and the time seems to have arrived: so, if you'll pardon me—"