the men, who had
placed their trust in him, wearing the St. Andrew's cross, the badge
of Burgundy, and replying "_Vive Bourgogne!_" to their cries of "_Vive
France!_" That night there was a great and sudden alarm. The Duke of
Burgundy, though brave, was sometimes wanting in presence of mind, and on
this occasion appeared more troubled in the King's presence than pleased
his friends. Louis took the command, giving his orders with great
coolness and prudence. Even as a general he gained by comparison with his
rival. He was indeed not less anxious than Charles that the Burgundian
army should suffer no reverse. He feared everything that might arouse the
ready suspicion and ungovernable temper of the Duke. On the evening of
the 29th a few hundred men, colliers and miners from the mountainous
district of Franchemont, led by the owners of the house in which the King
and Duke were sleeping, made a desperate attempt to surprise the princes
in their beds. They would have succeeded had they not delayed to attack
a barn in which three hundred Burgundian men-at-arms were posted. Only
a few followed their guides straight to the quarters of the sovereigns.
They were unable, therefore, to overcome the resistance of the guard
before the noise of the conflict had aroused the camp. The assailants
were overwhelmed by numbers, and fell fighting to the last. The assault
had been ordered for the next day, but this bold and unexpected attack so
surprised and disconcerted the Burgundians that the King thought he might
be able to persuade the Duke to agree to a capitulation, or at least to
postpone the assault. He only obtained a contemptuous request that he
should consult his own safety by retiring to Namur. This reflection on
his courage stimulated him to greater ostentation of zeal. He could
scarcely be restrained from leading the assault.

The citizens were worn out by guarding an open town against a powerful
army for more than a week; they imagined that as it was a Sunday they
would not be attacked till the morrow. The assailants entered the town
with little or no resistance. Yet the fury and license of the soldiery
could not have been greater had their passions been excited by an
obstinate and bloody struggle. The horrors of the sack of Dinant[1] were
surpassed, although many of the citizens were able to escape across the
Meuse. The deliberate vengeance of the Duke was more searching and not
less cruel than the lust and rapine of his army;