n is presented by this
scene of history; the great crimson silk pavilion, the seat spread with
cloth of gold, the blazoned banners, the heralds with their silver
trumpets, the multitude all hushed in wonder, the plumed and glittering
company of knights and men-at-arms. Such were the surroundings amid
which Francis knelt, and Bayard, with his drawn sword, gave the
accolade.

The sword with which he had performed the ceremony Bayard kept
religiously until his death. It was then mislaid, and never
rediscovered. The loss is a misfortune. For few relics could exist of
more romantic interest than the sword with which the noblest of all
knights did honor to the most magnificent of kings.

Bayard's glory had long been at such a height that hardly any exploit
could increase it. And yet an exploit was at hand at which, even when
Bayard was the actor of it, all France and Germany were to stand in
wonder.

The German emperor, marching with a mighty army on Champagne, took
Monson by surprise, and advanced against Mezieres. If Mezieres were
taken, the whole province would be in the most deadly peril. And yet
defence seemed hopeless; the place had no artillery, and the ramparts
were in ruins. At this crisis Bayard volunteered to hold the crazy city.
"No walls are weak," he said, in his own noble style, "which are
defended by brave men."

With a small but chosen band he hastened to Mezieres. Two days after his
arrival the Count of Nassau, with a vast array of men and cannon,
appeared before the walls. The siege began--a siege which seemed
impossible to last twelve hours.

But day after day went by, and still the town was standing. Every day
the ramparts gaped with cannon-shot; but every night, as if by miracle,
they rose again. The defenders suffered from wounds, pestilence, and
famine; but Bayard had put every man on oath to eat his horse, and then
his boots, before he would surrender. Three weeks passed; and when at
last the king arrived with forces to relieve the town, he found a few
gaunt spectres still glaring defiance from the battered ramparts against
a hundred cannon and more than forty thousand men.

Nothing can more strikingly describe the part of Bayard than the
testimony of his enemies themselves. Some time after, Mary of Hungary
asked the Count of Nassau in disdain how it came to pass that with a
host of troops and guns he could not take a crazy pigeon-house.
"Because," replied the count, "there was an eagle in it.