Part 180 (1/2)

”It is my turn now!” cried the young man.

And he dealt Maurevel such a violent thrust with his sword that, although the blade had to encounter his buff belt, the sharp point pierced this obstacle and sank into the flesh.

The a.s.sa.s.sin gave a terrible cry of pain; whereupon the soldiers with him, thinking he was killed, fled in alarm down the Rue Saint Honore.

Maurevel was not brave. Seeing himself abandoned by his followers, and having to face an adversary like De Mouy, he strove to escape, and ran after the guard, shouting, ”help! help!”

De Mouy, Saucourt, and Barthelemy, carried away by their ardor, pursued him. As they entered the Rue de Grenelle, which they had taken as a short cut, a window opened and a man sprang out from the first floor, landing on the ground lately wet by the rain.

It was Henry.

De Mouy's whistle had warned him of some danger and the pistol-shot had showed him that the danger was great, and had drawn him to the aid of his friends.

Energetic and vigorous, he dashed after them, sword in hand.

A cry guided him; it came from the Barrier des Sergents. It was Maurevel, who being hard pressed by De Mouy was calling a second time for help from his men who had run away.

Maurevel had to turn or be run through the back; he turned, therefore, and, meeting his enemy's steel, gave him back so skilful a thrust that the scarf of the latter was cut through. But De Mouy at once lunged. The sword again sank into the flesh it had already broken, and a second jet of blood spurted from a second wound.

”At him!” cried Henry, coming up. ”Quick, quick, De Mouy!”

De Mouy needed no encouragement.

Again he charged at Maurevel; but the latter had not waited.

Pressing his left hand over his wound, he again took to flight.

”Kill him! Quick! Kill him!” cried the king, ”here are the soldiers, and the despair of cowards is of no moment to the brave.”

Maurevel, who was well nigh exhausted, whose every breath caused a b.l.o.o.d.y 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, a.s.sa.s.sin!” 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 pa.s.sed 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.”