for an opportunity to resume the fight, he permitted the tapping of some casks of wine which had been found in the abbey, and his men set themselves to drinking.  A countryman of those parts came hurrying up, and said to Talbot, “My lord, the French are deserting their park and taking to flight; now or never is the hour for fulfilling your promise.”  Talbot arose and left the mass, shouting, “Never may I hear mass again if I put not to rout the French who are in yonder park.”  When he arrived in front of the Frenchmen’s intrenchment, “My lord,” said Sir Thomas Cunningham, an aged gentleman who had for a long time past been his standard-bearer, “they have made a false report to you; observe the depth of the ditch and the faces of yonder men; they don’t look like retreating; my opinion is, that for the present we should turn back; the country is for us, we have no lack of provisions, and with a little patience we shall starve out the French.”  Talbot flew into a passion, gave Sir Thomas a sword-cut across the face, had his banner planted on the edge of the ditch, and began the attack.  The banner was torn down and Sir Thomas Cunningham killed.  “Dismount!” shouted Talbot to his men-at-arms, English and Gascon.  The French camp was defended by a more than usually strong artillery; a body of Bretons, held in reserve, advanced to sustain the shock of the English; and a shot from a culverin struck Talbot, who was already wounded in the face, shattered his thigh, and brought him to the ground.  Lord Lisle, his son, flew to him to raise him.  “Let me be,” said Talbot; “the day is the enemies’; it will be no shame for thee to fly, for this is thy first battle.”  But the son remained with his father, and was slain at his side.  The defeat of the English was complete.  Talbot’s body, pierced with wounds, was left on the field of battle.  He was so disfigured that, when the dead were removed, he was not recognized.  Notice, however, was taken of an old man wearing a cuirass covered with red velvet; this, it was presumed, was he; and he was placed upon a shield and carried into the camp.  An English herald came with a request that he might look for Lord’ Talbot’s body.  “Would you know him?” he was asked.  “Take me to see him,” joyfully answered the poor servant, thinking that his master was a prisoner and alive.  When he saw him, he hesitated to identify him; he knelt down, put his finger in the mouth of the corpse, and recognized Talbot by the loss of a molar tooth.  Throwing off immediately his coat-of-arms with the colors and bearings of Talbot, “Ah! my lord and master,” he cried, “can this be verily you?  May God forgive your sins!  For forty years and more I have been your officer-at-arms and worn your livery, and thus I give it back to you!” And he covered with his coat-of-arms the stark-stripped body of the old hero.