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Updated: May 23, 2025
Not waiting for an answer they pushed towards the door of Roberval's room, which stood slightly ajar. Before they could knock De Roberval threw it open, exclaiming as he did so: "Welcome to our conference." "Behold the King!" he continued, laughingly pointing to La Pommeraye. "Jean is a strange fellow. I am afraid I should have left him in Picardy; his tongue wags too much.
At length tidings came which made De Roberval's heart bound with hope once more. The King had at last roused himself; nay, he had already purchased three ships three noble vessels and they even now lay in the harbour of La Rochelle, ready for Roberval to equip and man. This was late in February.
And in fact, De Roberval had resolved within himself to add yet one more brutal deed to the long list which had ruined his life, and changed him from a gentleman and a man of honour to a bully, a coward, and an assassin. La Pommeraye had returned to France. He had but to open his lips, and De Roberval's life was at his mercy.
Bastienne was a pious soul, and, moreover, a quick-witted one. She had heard the legends of the island, which had passed among the sailors, and when she grasped the fact that they were to be put ashore, she made some excuse to return below, crept into De Roberval's cabin, and stole the precious relic from its case, concealing it carefully in her bodice.
Before they had time to question De Pontbriand the Spaniards were upon them, and with fierce shouts and drawn swords dashed into the group which now formed a protecting body about Marguerite, Marie, and Bastienne. There was a sudden checking of careering steeds, a clashing of weapons, a heavy falling of wounded men, and three of De Roberval's party and one of the foe lay in the dust.
The waves, he knew, would carry him ashore; and with just enough motion in his limbs to keep him afloat, he allowed himself to be borne along. But the northern water was chilling him to the marrow; and although he could plainly see the women on the beach, and could hear their prayers and cries of encouragement, he felt himself sinking, and De Roberval's prophecy seemed about to be realised.
He made no further effort to see Marguerite for the present, but kept a careful watch over De Roberval's movements, that he might know to a certainty when he intended to sail. Winter came, and still the King did nothing. De Roberval was in Paris with his household, and Claude had taken up his quarters in the same city.
The King had given him full power to make preparations but they must come to him at once to receive instructions, and hear from his own lips the generosity of their noble monarch. Eagerly the two young men hurried to tell Cartier the good news; and the three proceeded to Roberval's house, where they found him in high spirits. He had received more than he had asked.
The sight of his pale face and unkempt hair, his worn, almost emaciated limbs, and bruised and swollen wrists, awakened a murmur of sympathy even among the lawless wretches who composed the crew. Marguerite, who had stood like one in a dream while these events were taking place, realised for the first time, at the sight of her lover, what Roberval's intentions were.
The castle shook to its foundations, and the courtyard was strewn with the dead and the dying. The advance was checked; De Roberval's men rallied, rushed from the castle, and won a glorious victory against overwhelming numbers. Bastienne herself was badly shaken by the explosion, and terrified half to death at her own daring.
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