“Nay!” said the Countess.  “Think, I am the daughter of Count Reinold—­of your father’s old, valiant, and faithful servant.  Would you hold me out as a prize to the best sword-player?”

“Your ancestress,” said the Duke, “was won at a tourney—­you shall be fought for in real melee.  Only thus far, for Count Reinold’s sake, the successful prizer shall be a gentleman of unimpeached birth, and unstained bearings, but, be he such, and the poorest who ever drew the strap of a sword-belt through the tongue of a buckle, he shall have at least the proffer of your hand.  I swear it by my ducal crown, and by the order that I wear.  Ha, messires,” he added, turning to the nobles present, “this at least is, I think, in conformity with the rules of chivalry?”

Isabelle’s remonstrances were drowned in a general and jubilant assent, above which was heard the voice of old Lord Crawford, regretting the weight of years that prevented his striking for so fair a prize.

Le Balafre dared not speak aloud in such a presence, but he muttered to himself: 

“Now, Saunders Souplejaw, hold thine own!  Thou always saidst the fortune of our house was to be won by marriage, and never had you such a chance to keep your word with us.”

The Countess of Crevecoeur whispered to Isabelle, that perhaps the successful competitor might prove one who should reconcile to obedience.  Love, like despair, catches at straws, and the tears of the Countess Isabelle flowed more placidly while she dwelt upon the hope this insinuation conveyed.

IV.—­The Winning of the Prize

King Louis and his guards sallied from the gateway of Peronne, to join the Burgundian army under Duke Charles, which commenced at the same time its march against Liege.  Ere the troops were fully on march Quentin Durward received from an unknown hand a billet which Lady Hamelin had sent to the Countess Isabelle, mentioning that her William—­as she called the Wild Boar—­had determined, for purposes of policy, in the first action to have others dressed in his coat-armour, and himself to assume the arms of Orleans, with a bar sinister.  Durward had also learnt from other sources that the rebels of Liege hoped to scatter confusion amongst the Burgundians by shouting Vive la France!

The battle began on the night of the arrival of the forces outside Liege, when De la Marck boldly sallied out and attacked the invaders.  It was not till daybreak that the Burgundians began to show the qualities which belong to superior discipline, and the great mass of Liegois were compelled to retreat, and at length to fly.  Soon the whole became a confused tide of fighters, fliers, and pursuers, which rolled itself towards the city walls, and at last poured into the undefended breach through which the Liegois had sallied.

Quentin had seen the arms of Orleans, and made more than human exertions to overtake the special object of his pursuit.  Le Balafre, and several of his comrades, were with him marvelling at the gallantry displayed by so young a soldier.  On the very brink of the breach, De la Marck—­for it was himself—­succeeded in effecting a momentary stand.  H mace of iron in his hand, before which everything seemed to go down.