“What is it?” And Marie, who had flown to the window, turned with a white face to the Princess’ cry.
“We are betrayed! The place is full of men.”
Before she finished speaking we heard the galloping of horses—they seemed to come from all sides—then the brazen ring of a trumpet pealed harshly out, and there was a hoarse command:
“Guard all the doors! Let none pass!”
With a snarling oath, Coqueville sprang to the doorway, sword in hand, and I rushed after him. Condé would have followed us, but loving arms held him back, and with a strength that one could hardly believe she possessed the Princess almost dragged him toward an inner door.
“Here! here!” she gasped; “there is a way here—ah!” And she shrank back, for the door had opened upon her, and a man reeled in, mortally wounded. It was Badehorn.
“We are lost! They are in the courtyard!” So saying, he slipped down limply, and in the hour of his death became a child again, and went back to his native tongue, groaning out some words, as he died, in his guttural German—God knows, they may have been prayers.
And while this happened in a hand-turn, there came an angry knocking at the door, and a loud voice called:
“Open! Open in the King’s name!”
The surprise was complete, and we were caged as securely as rats in a trap. Condé looked at the blanched faces of the women, then at us, and then glanced from the window, while the knocking grew angrier and the voice louder.