Simon was still some distance away, striving to reach me, and our eyes met. It was enough for me. I sprang at him, past De Lorgnac; and the mob gave, only to wedge me in and bear me backwards, for at this moment there rose a cry:
"The archers! The guards! Fly! Fly!"
Ay! They had come at last! When it was too late, with Martines, the lieutenant of the Châtelet, at their head. They drove the mob before them, striking them down, riding them over, and surrounded the few of us who were left.
In my confusion, as I strove to reach Simon, the hand of some fallen wretch clutched me by the ankle, and I stumbled forward. In a trice I was down, and seized; and struggling desperately, but in vain, was dragged into safety, but a prisoner.
The mob driven off, though not defeated yet, came on again, refusing to be balked of their prey; but disciplined strength was too much for them, and once more they gave way, howling around the few prisoners, whom they were only kept from tearing in pieces by the guards.
By the flare of the torches I saw Martines and Simon riding side by side talking eagerly. Suddenly the latter reined in, sprang from his horse, and lifted something in his arms. It was a woman's figure, limp and lifeless. He placed her on the saddle before him, and mounted again, whilst the mob hooted and jeered, and as the light fell on the white face I saw it was Diane.
Martines leaned forward and looked at her, with pity in his glance; but
Simon laughed out:
"Corbleu, monsieur! this is the worst Christaudin of them all."
The words roused me to madness, and with a mighty effort I shook myself free and sprang forward, but the butt of a lance brought me down, and once more I was seized.