to thee.”  Charles marched promptly on Paris.  Louis, on his side, moved thither, with the design and in the hope of getting in there without fighting.  But the Burgundians, posted at St. Denis and the environs, barred his approach.  His seneschal, Peter de Breze, advised him to first attack the Bretons, who were advancing to join the Burgundians.  Louis, looking at him somewhat mistrustfully, said, “You, too, Sir Seneschal, have signed this League of the Common Weal.”  “Ay, sir,” answered Brez, with a laugh, “they have my signature, but you have myself.”  “Would you be afraid to try conclusions with the Burgundians?” continued the king.  “Nay, verily,” replied the seneschal; “I will let that be seen in the first battle.”  Louis continued his march on Paris.  The two armies met at Montlhery, on the 16th of July, 1465.  Breze, who commanded the king’s advance-guard, immediately went into action, and was one of the first to be killed.  Louis came up to his assistance with troops in rather loose order; the affair became hot and general; the French for a moment wavered, and a rumor ran through the ranks that the king had just been killed.

“No, my friends,” said Louis, taking off his helmet, “no, I am not dead; defend your king with good courage.”  The wavering was transferred to the Burgundians.  Count Charles himself was so closely pressed that a French man-at-arms laid his hand on him, saying, “Yield you, my lord; I know you well; let not yourself be slain.”  “A rescue!” cried Charles; “I’ll not leave you, my friends, unless by death:  I am here to live and die with you.”  He was wounded by a sword-thrust which entered his neck between his helmet and his breastplate, badly fastened.  Disorder set in on both sides, without either’s being certain how things were, or being able to consider itself victorious.  Night came on; and French and Burgundians encamped before Montlhery.  The Count of Charolais sat down on two heaps of straw, and had his wound dressed.  Around him were the stripped corpses of the slain.  As they were being moved to make room for him, a poor wounded creature, somewhat revived by the motion, recovered consciousness and asked for a drink.  The count made them pour down his throat a drop of his own mixture, for he never drank wine.  The wounded man came completely to himself, and recovered.  It was one of the archers of his guard.  Next day news was brought to Charles that the Bretons were coming up, with their own duke, the Duke of Berry, and Count Dunois at their head.  He went as far as Etampes to meet them, and informed them of what had just happened.  The Duke of Berry was very much distressed; it was a great pity, he said, that so many people had been killed; he heartily wished that the war had never been begun.  “Did you hear,” said the Count of Charolais to his servants, “how yonder fellow talks?  He is upset at the sight of seven or eight hundred wounded men going about the town, folks who are nothing to him, and whom he does not even know; he would be still more upset if the matter touched him nearly; he is just the sort of fellow to readily make his own terms and leave us stuck in the mud; we must secure other friends.”  And he forthwith made one of his people post off to England, to draw closer the alliance between Burgundy and Edward IV.