they soon returned to the
attack, and again were repulsed with loss. Hostilities were once more
suspended. They then, for the third time, called upon us to surrender,
promising that our lives should be spared. Antony Mauprat replied with
an obscene jest. They remained undecided, but did not withdraw.

I had fought bravely; I had done what I called my duty. There was a long
lull. It was impossible to judge the distance of the enemy, and we
dared not fire at random into the darkness, for our ammunition was too
precious. All my uncles remained riveted on the ramparts, in case of
fresh attack. My Uncle Louis was dangerously wounded. Thoughts of my
prisoner returned to my mind. At the beginning of the fight I had heard
John Mauprat saying, that if our defeat seemed imminent, we must offer
to hand her over to the enemy, on condition that they should raise the
seige; that if they refused, we must hang her before their eyes. I
had no longer any doubts about the truth of what she had told me.
When victory appeared to declare for us they forgot the captive. But I
noticed the crafty John quitting the culverin which he so loved to
fire, and creeping away like a cat into the darkness. A feeling of
ungovernable jealousy seized me. I threw down my gun and dashed after
him, knife in hand, resolved, I believe, to stab him if he attempted to
touch what I considered my booty. I saw him approach the door, try to
open it, peer attentively through the keyhole, to assure himself that
his prey had not escaped him. Suddenly shots were heard again. He sprang
to his maimed feet with that marvellous agility of his, and limped off
to the ramparts. For myself, hidden as I was by the darkness, I let him
pass and did not follow. A passion other than the love of slaughter had
just taken possession of me. A flash of jealousy had fired my senses.
The smell of powder, the sight of blood, the noise, the danger, and the
many bumpers of brandy we had passed round to keep up our strength had
strangely heated my brain. I took the key from my belt and opened the
door noisily. And now, as I stood before my captive again, I was no
longer the suspicious and clumsy novice she had so easily moved to pity:
I was the wild outlaw of Roche-Mauprat, a hundred times more dangerous
than at first. She rushed towards me eagerly. I opened my arms to
catch her; instead of being frightened she threw herself into them,
exclaiming:

"Well! and my father?"

"Your father," I sa