Then he went and finished his night in the public room at another inn, among all the drinkers, who were far from thinking that this tall unknown, who looked so smiling and gracious, had just killed two men.

At break of day he started again, but a prey to anxiety, for although two attempts had failed, the third might be successful.  He determined when he reached Orleans to send to the king to ask for an escort.

But as the road to Orleans was passed without accident, Chicot began to think again that it was needless, and that the king would lose his good opinion of him, and also that an escort would be a great trouble.  He went on, therefore, but his fears began to return as evening advanced.  All at once he heard behind him the galloping of horses, and turning round he counted seven cavaliers, of whom four had muskets on their shoulders.  They gained rapidly on Chicot, who, seeing flight was hopeless, contented himself with making his horse move in zig-zags, so as to escape the balls which he expected every moment.  He was right, for when they came about fifty feet from him, they fired, but thanks to his maneuver, all the balls missed him.  He immediately abandoned the reins and let himself slip to the ground, taking the precaution to have his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.

He came to the ground in such a position that his head was protected by the breast of his horse.

A cry of joy came from the troop, who, seeing him fall, believed him dead.

“I told you so,” said a man, riding up, with a mask on his face; “you failed because you did not follow my orders.  This time, here he is; search him, and if he moves, finish him.”

Chicot was not a pious man, but at such a moment he remembered his God and murmured a fervent prayer.

Two men approached him sword in hand, and as he did not stir, came fearlessly forward; but instantly Chicot’s dagger was in the throat of one, and his sword half buried in the side of the other.

“Ah! treason!” cried the chief, “he is not dead; charge your muskets.”

“No, I am not dead,” cried Chicot, attacking the speaker.

But two soldiers came to the rescue; Chicot turned and wounded one in the thigh.

“The muskets!” cried the chief.

“Before they are ready, you will be pierced through the heart,” cried Chicot.

“Be firm, and I will aid you,” cried a voice, which seemed to Chicot to come from heaven.

It was that of a fine young man, on a black horse.  He had a pistol in each hand, and cried again to Chicot, “Stoop! morbleu, stoop!”

Chicot obeyed.

One pistol was fired, and a man rolled at Chicot’s feet; then the second, and another man fell.

“Now we are two to two,” cried Chicot; “generous young man, you take one, here is mine,” and he rushed on the masked man, who defended himself as if used to arms.

The young man seized his opponent by the body, threw him down, and bound him with his belt.  Chicot soon wounded his adversary, who was very corpulent, between the ribs; he fell, and Chicot, putting his foot on his sword to prevent him from using it, cut the strings of his mask.