'What in the devil's name could I hear on those cursed outposts?'
'Then in your ear—the Rémois have gone from us, and de Mayenne and the Guisard have passed over to the King. My news is certain, and the Archduke has sent a cypher to de Rône bidding him retreat at once on Amiens.'
'But this does not look like a retreat.'
'No; de Rône has lost the key of the cypher.'
We both laughed, and Belin went on: 'It was droll. I saw him receive the message, which the old fox must have read at a glance. But he turned it this way and that, and looking at Egmont, said as calmly as possible, "Ride back to Amiens and fetch me the key. I have lost mine and cannot follow the cypher"—but hark!' and Belin interrupted himself, 'there is de Réthelois' good morning.'
Even as he spoke three bright flashes came from the citadel of La Fère, and the big guns from the bastion of Ste. Geneviève boomed sullenly into the morning. Then a long streak of fire ran across the grey mist, followed by the angry crackle of the petronels, above which the reports of the bombards of the trench-masters, as they replied to de Réthelois' artillery, sounded like strokes on a war drum.
'Ventre St. Gris! The Spaniards have drawn first blood, Belin.'
'M. d'Auriac!'
De Rône's voice stopped any further talk, and I spurred to his side.
'My compliments to the Condé de Leyva and ask him not to waste time spitting at de Réthelois—tell him to leave a sufficient force to hold the garrison in check, and move across the river towards St. Gobains—report yourself to me at the ford.'