"'Twas stupid folly!" exclaimed the speaker. "We aren't so strong that we can afford to divide our forces. Condé's rashness will ruin everything. One would think he was a hot-headed boy!"
"If Condé was in fault, he has paid dearly for his mistake," I remarked, and was greeted by cries of "What do you mean?" "Is the Prince hurt?" "Is he a prisoner?" "Speak out, Le Blanc!"
"The Prince, gentlemen," I replied slowly, "is dead; and if my account be true, most foully murdered."
"Condé dead!" cried one, "no, no; there must be some strange mistake!"
"I fear not, monsieur!" and, while they listened in breathless silence, I repeated the story which the wounded trooper had brought from the battle-field.
"Anjou shall have cause to rue this day!" said one, speaking with deadly earnestness. "If I meet him on foot or in the saddle, in victory or in defeat, I will not leave the ground till I have plunged my sword into his heart!"
"But Anjou was not the murderer!"
"An officer of his bodyguard, you said. Do you think he acted against his master's wishes? Pshaw! I tell you, Monseigneur is as much the murderer as if his own fingers had pulled the trigger!" and the murmur of applause from all who heard showed how fully they agreed with him.
When they left the tent, to retail the circumstances of the Prince's death, I was glad to lie down. I was still anxious concerning my English comrade, but Felix, who was too excited to sleep, promised to bring me any information that he could gather. My head ached terribly, but I managed to sleep, and for an hour or two at least I forgot the dismal tragedy that had occurred.
The whole camp was astir in the early morning, and my comrade brought me very welcome news. Roger had arrived during the night, with about a dozen fellow-countrymen, tired out but unwounded.