de; Lagardere
held his own on the other. Nevers delivered his thrust at AEsop, and for
the second time that day the hunchback felt the prick of steel between
his eyes and saved himself by springing backward, his blood's fire
suddenly turned to ice. Lagardere's sword was like a living fire. "Look
out, Staupitz! Take that, Pepe!" he cried, and wounded both men. Then,
while the German and the Spaniard fell back swearing, he turned joyously
to Nevers, for his quick ear caught the sound of galloping on the distant
highway.

"Good cheer, brother! I hear horses. My men are coming. Lagardere!
Lagardere!"

Nevers responded joyously, "I am here! Victory!"

By this time the ground was strewn with the dead and wounded of their
assailants, and, save for the slight scratch on Nevers's forehead, the
defenders were unhurt. The galloping of horses was now distinctly heard,
and the sound was as displeasing to the bravos as it was delightful to
Lagardere.

Delightful, indeed, for the sake of his companion, whom he was so hot to
save. Otherwise, Lagardere, so far as he had clearness enough to think
coherently at all, thought that he had never lived, had never hoped to
live, through moments so delightful. To be in the thick of such a brawl,
to be fighting side by side with the best swordsman in all France against
what might well be considered overwhelming odds, and to be working havoc
and disaster among his antagonists, stirred Lagardere's blood more
blithely than ripe wine. He had fought good fights before now, but never
such a fight as this, in the black and dark night, with the dim air thick
with hostile swords, and the night wind singing songs of battle in his
ears. To live like this was to be very much alive; this had a zest denied
to any calmly planned duello; this had a poetry fiercer and finer than
the shock of action in the daylit lanes of war.

He called merrily to the bravos to renew their assault, but the bravos
hung back discouraged; even the murder-zeal of AEsop had flagged. Then, in
an instant, the attacked became the attackers, on the impulse of Nevers.
Shouting anew the motto of his house, "I am here!" he leaped lightly over
the rampart of hay, soliciting the swords of his foemen. Lagardere
followed his example in an instant, and the pair now carried the war into
the enemies' country, charging the staggered assassins, who scattered
before them. Lagardere drove some half a dozen of the rogues, including
Staupitz and th