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About the beginning of February, 1572, I received another letter from Jeanne, informing me that her royal mistress had finally consented to journey to Blois, and that they would set out in a week or two at the latest. She also added, in a brief postscript at the end, that Roger Braund intended to pay us a visit before the summer ended.

'Tis Monsieur Edmond!" and Jacques came running out, his face beaming with delight. "We were coming in search of you," he cried. "Monsieur Braund is in the house, bidding mademoiselle farewell. She is terribly alarmed on your account; she believes you to be dead. She blames herself bitterly for leaving you in Paris. Is the news true, monsieur?

"Is Roger Braund not with his comrades?" I asked. "No; there are a good many of the English still missing, but their friends are not anxious; they have lost their way perhaps, and we shall see them in the morning." As nothing could be done, I accompanied Felix to the tent, where a number of our comrades speedily assembled.

We had halted for the night some ten miles or so from Arnay-le-Duc, and I was gossiping with Roger Braund and several of the Englishmen their numbers by this time, alas! had thinned considerably when Felix came up hastily, his eyes shining with keen excitement. "Any fresh news?" asked Roger. "Nothing certain," my comrade answered, "but Cossé is reported to be at or near Arnay-le-Duc.

I had a talk with Jacques the same evening and asked him to give me his opinion freely on the subject. The honest fellow did not hesitate an instant. "Go with Monsieur Braund by all means," said he. "As long as the King of Navarre remains a prisoner you can do nothing, but directly he is free you will have a chance of settling accounts with this Cordel.

"The longer you look at it the less you'll like it," said Roger Braund cheerfully for our English comrade often came over for a chat when we had pitched camp "Monseigneur has fenced himself in marvellously well." "The more credit in digging him out!" laughed Felix. "Don't make Edmond more doleful; he is half afraid now of meeting with a second Jarnac.

'Tis Roger Braund. He has captured the flag!" A great roar of cheering went up as he approached us, his helmet gone, his face bleeding, his doublet slashed, but his eyes smiling cheerfully. With an easy grace he jumped from his horse, and advancing on foot presented the trophy to the Admiral. "A memento of the battle-field, my lord," he said, with a courteous bow.

He did not return for three days, and then brought news: that an elderly man, seemingly a foreigner, had been lodging for some months past in a part of the ruined Moresco Castle, which was tenanted by one John Braund; that a few weeks since a younger man, a foreigner also, had joined him from on board a ship: the ship a Flushinger, or Easterling of some sort.

He was in the thick of the press, cutting a passage for himself, while numbers of his bodyguard toiled after him. "To the Prince!" cried Roger Braund in stentorian tones, "or he is lost!" We tore our way like a parcel of madmen, striking right and left in blind fury, and not pausing to parry a blow. But the enemy surged round us like waves in a storm.