Gauvain, with the rashness peculiar to a youthful leader, was in the lower hall, in the thickest of the mêlée, with the bullets flying in all directions. Let us add, however, that he felt all the confidence of a man who had never been wounded.
As he turned to give an order, the flash from a volley of musketry lighted up a face close beside him.
"Cimourdain!" he-cried, "why are you here?"
"I came to be near you," replied the man, who was indeed Cimourdain.
"But you will be killed."
"What of that? Are you not in the same danger?"
"But I am needed here, and you are not."
"Since you are here, my place is by your side."
"No, my master."
"Yes, my child."