he despair of cowards is of no moment to the brave."

Maurevel, who was well nigh exhausted, whose every breath caused a
bloody perspiration, fell down; but almost immediately he rose again,
and turning on one knee presented the point of his sword to De Mouy.

"Friends! Friends!" cried Maurevel. "There are only two. Fire at them!
Fire!"

Saucourt and Barthelemy had gone in pursuit of the other soldiers, down
the Rue des Poulies, and the king and De Mouy were alone with the four
men.

"Fire!" cried Maurevel again, while one of the soldiers levelled his
gun.

"Yes, but first," said De Mouy, "die, traitor, murderer, assassin!" and
seizing Maurevel's sword with one hand, with the other he plunged his
own up to its hilt into the breast of his enemy, with such force that he
nailed him to the earth.

"Take care! Take care!" cried Henry.

De Mouy sprang back, leaving his sword in Maurevel's body, just as a
soldier was in the act of firing at him.

Henry at once passed his sword through the body of the soldier, who gave
a cry and fell by the side of Maurevel.

The two others took to flight.

"Come, De Mouy, come!" cried Henry, "let us not lose an instant; if we
are recognized it will be all over with us."

"Wait, sire. Do you suppose I want to leave my sword in the body of this
wretch?" and De Mouy approached Maurevel, who lay apparently without
sign of life.

But just as he took hold of his sword, which was run through Maurevel's
body, the latter raised himself, and with the gun the soldier had
dropped fired directly at De Mouy's breast.

The young man fell without a cry. He was killed outright.

Henry rushed at Maurevel, but the latter had fallen again, and the
king's sword pierced only a dead body.

It was necessary to flee. The noise had attracted a large number of
persons; the night watch might arrive at any moment. Henry looked around
to see if there was any face he knew, and gave a cry of delight on
recognizing La Huriere.

As the scene had occurred at the foot of the Croix du Trahoir, that is,
opposite the Rue de l'Arbre Sec, our old friend, whose naturally gloomy
disposition had been still further saddened since the death of La Mole
and Coconnas, his two favorite lodgers, had left his furnaces and his
pans in the midst of his preparations for the King of Navarre's supper,
and had run to the fight.

"My dear La Huriere, I commend De Mouy to your care, although I greatly
fear nothing can be done for