It was a dreary journey. We wandered on aimlessly and hopelessly for hours, and night had long since fallen when, by some lucky chance, we stumbled upon our infantry. We were not the first fugitives to arrive, and the camp was full of excitement.
I made my way straight to the Admiral's tent, and was instantly admitted. Several officers were already there, eagerly discussing the news, and they plied me with anxious questions. I could, however, tell them nothing fresh, and could throw no light on the fate of the Prince.
In the midst of the interview an officer brought in a wounded trooper. He was weak and faint from loss of blood, and, gallantly as he had held himself in the fray, he hung his head shamefacedly.
"You are from Jarnac?" said Coligny kindly; "can you tell us what has happened to your general?"
Every voice was hushed; the silence became painful as we listened with straining ears for the man's reply. Steadying himself, he gave his answer, and a deep groan burst from the assembled officers.
"The Prince is dead, my lord," he said slowly.
"Dead!" echoed our leader. "Killed in the battle?"
"Murdered in cold blood after the battle, my lord!"
"How?" cried Coligny, and never had I seen his face look so stern. "Think well, my man, before speaking. This is a serious statement to make."
"But a true one, my lord. I was not a yard away when the deed was done."