She was really dignified in her strong determination, and she
prevailed. Evil as the whole conduct of the Prince had been, no
doubt the magistrates felt that it would be a frightful reproach to
let the flower of the gentlemen of France be massacred at their
gates. So again we went off towards the Port St. Antoine, hearing
the firing and the shouts louder every minute, at the entrance of Rue
St. Antoine we met M. Guitaut on horse-back, supported by another
man, bare-headed, all unbuttoned, and pale as death. 'Shalt thou
die?' screamed out Mademoiselle, as we passed the poor man, and he
shook his head, though he had a great musket ball in his body. Next
came M. de Vallon, carried in a chair, but not too much hurt to call
out: 'Alas, my good mistress, we are all lost.'
'No, no,' she answered; 'I have orders to open a retreat.'
'You give me life,' he said.
More and more wounded, some riding, some on foot, some carried on
ladders, boards, doors, mattresses. I saw an open door. It was that
of Gneffier Verdon, Clement's brother-in-law, and Darpent was
assisting to carry in a wounded man whose blood flowed so fast that
it made a stream along the pavement before the door. Mademoiselle
insisted on knowing who it was, and there was only too much time,
for, in spite of our impatience and the deadly need, we could only
move at a foot's pace through the ghastly procession we were meeting.
The answer came back--'It is the Count d'Aubepine.
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