Quentin singled him out, and ascended the ruins to measure swords with the Boar of Ardennes.  A shout announced that the besiegers were entering the city at another point, and De la Marck endeavoured to effect a retreat, only to be prevented by Quentin, Le Balafre, and their comrades.  De la Marck found his retreat cut off, and bade his lieutenant break through if he could, and escape.  “With me it is over,” he added.  “I am man enough now that I am brought to bay, to send some of these vagabond Scots to hell before me.”  About six of De la Marck’s best men remained to perish with their master, and fronted the archers who were not many more in number.

Quentin had but time to bid his uncle and comrades stand back, when De la Marck sprang upon him with a bound; light of foot and quick of eye, Quentin leaped aside.

They then closed like wolf and wolf-dog, their comrades on either side remaining inactive spectators, for Le Balafre roared out for fair play.

The huge strength of the Boar of Ardennes began to give way to fatigue, so wounded was he, but he fought on unabated in courage and ire, and Quentin’s victory seemed dubious and distant, when a female voice behind him called him by his name, ejaculating, “Help! help! for the sake of the blessed Virgin!”

Quentin turned his head and beheld a maiden, who with her family had aided him to escape with Isabelle, dragged forcibly along by a French soldier.

“Wait for me but one moment!” he exclaimed to De la Marck, and sprang to extricate the girl from her dangerous situation.

“I wait no man’s pleasure,” said De la Marck, flourishing his mace and beginning to retreat.

“You shall wait mine, though, by your leave,” said Balafre; “I will not have any nephew baulked.”  So saying, he instantly assaulted De la Marck with his two-handed sword.

Quentin was obliged to take the defenceless maiden to her father’s house, and in the meantime the King and the Duke of Burgundy entered the city on horseback, and ditched orders to stop the sack of the city.  When the terrified town was restored to some moderate degree of order, Louis and Charles proceeded to hear the claims which respected the County of Croye and its fair mistress.  Doubt and mystery involved the several pretensions of those who claimed the merit of having dispatched the murderer of the bishop, for the rich reward promised brought death to all who were arrayed in De la Marck’s resemblance.

In the midst of conflicting claims Crawford pressed forward into the circle, dragging Le Balafre after him.  “Away with your hoofs and hides, and painted iron!” cried Crawford.  “No one, save he who slew the Boar, can show the tusks!”

He flung on the floor the bloody head, easily known as that of De la Marck, and which was instantly recognised by all who had seen him.

“Crawford,” said Louis, “I trust it is one of my faithful Scots who has won this prize?”