message he urged the prince not to make a fruitless effort, and to fall back himself in all haste.  “God forbid,” answered Conde, “that Louis de Bourbon should turn his back to the enemy!” and he continued his march, saying to his brother-in-law, Francis de la Rochefoucauld, who was marching beside him, “My uncle has made a ‘clerical error’ (pas de clerc, a slip); but the wine is drawn, and it must be drunk.”  On arriving at the battle-field, whither he had brought with him but three hundred horse, at the very moment when, with this weak escort, he was preparing to charge the deep column of the Duke of Anjou, he received from La Rochefoucauld’s horse a kick which broke one of the bones of his leg; and he had already crushed an arm by a fall.  We will borrow from the Duke of Aumale the glorious and piteous tale of this incident.  “Conde turned round to his men-at-arms, and showing first his injured limbs and then the device, ’Sweet is danger for Christ and for fatherland!’ which fluttered upon his banner in the breeze, ’Nobles of France,’ he cried, ’this is the desired moment Remember in what plight Louis de Bourbon enters the battle for Christ and fatherland!’ Then, lowering his head, he charges with his three hundred horse upon the eight hundred lances of the Duke of Anjou.  The first shock of this charge was irresistible; such for a moment was the disorder amongst the Catholics that many of them believed the day was lost; but fresh bodies of royalists arrive one after another.  The prince has his horse killed under him; and, in the midst of the confusion, hampered by his wounds, he cannot mount another.  In spite of all, his brave comrades do not desert him; Soubise and a dozen of them, covered with wounds, are taken; an old man, named La Vergne, who had brought with him twenty-five sons or nephews, is left upon the field with fifteen of them, ‘all in a heap,’ says D’Aubigne.  Left almost alone, with his back against a tree, one knee upon the ground, and deprived of the use of one leg, Conde still defends himself; but his strength is failing him; he sees two Catholic gentlemen to whom he had rendered service, Saint-Jean and D’Argence; he calls to them, raises the vizor of his helmet, and holds out to them his gauntlets.  The two horsemen dismount, and swear to risk their lives to save his.  Others join them, and are eager to assist the glorious captive.  Meanwhile the royal cavalry continues the pursuit; the squadrons successively pass close by the group which has formed round Conde.  Soon he spies the red cloaks of the Duke of Anjou’s guards.  He points to them with his finger.  D’Argence understands him, and, ’Hide your face!’ he cries.  ‘Ah D’Argence, D’Argence, you will not save me,’ replies the prince.  Then, like Caesar, covering up his face, he awaited death the poor soul knew only too well the perfidious character of the Duke of Anjou, the hatred with which he was hunting him down, and the sanguinary orders he would give.  The guards had gone by when their captain, Montesquion, learned the name of this prisoner.  ’Slay, slay, mordioux!’ he shouted; then suddenly wheeling his horse round, he returns at a gallop, and with a pistol-shot, fired from behind, shatters the hero’s skull.” [Histoire des Princes de Conde, by M. le Duc d’Aumale, t. ii. pp. 65-72.]