“Stand firm, my brave lads!” said our chief, as the troops, flushed with their success, formed up anew, “stand firm, and the day is won!”

He had turned to speak to the Count of St. Cyr, when a mounted messenger dashed up, panting and breathless.

“My lord,” he gasped, after a moment’s pause, “we are heavily beset on the left, and are being forced back.  I fear that the whole wing is in danger.”

“Courage, my friend,” replied Coligny, “courage.  We will be with you directly.  Come, gentlemen, there is still work for us to do.”

The battle was now at its height, but as we dashed along from right to left, our centre paused to cheer their gallant general.  They were hardly pressed, but were holding their own sturdily, and our spirits rose at sight of their intrepid defence.

On the left wing, however, the case was different.  Here Anjou, or Tavannes—­for I suppose it was the marshal who really directed the battle—­was throwing successive bodies of troops upon the devoted Huguenots, who were sorely put to it to defend their position.  But at our approach a great cry of relief went up from the panting soldiers.  There was one among us worth a whole division!

Even those who had begun to retreat joined in the shout, and once more dashed into the fray.  Wave after wave of royalists rolled down upon us, but time and again we flung them back, and at last, with one superb effort, hurled their front rank into ruin.

“The day goes well,” cried Felix exultingly, as we galloped back to our lines.  “Anjou will remember Montcontour!”

In every part of the field the fight now raged fiercely, and, wherever the stress was greatest, there, as if by magic, appeared Coligny.  His escort steadily decreased in numbers; one died here, while supporting a body of infantry, another dropped during some wild charge; but our general himself, though fighting like a common trooper, appeared invulnerable.

Wherever he was, there victory followed our arms; but the odds against us were too heavy.  Our men stood in their places and fought to the death; but their limbs grew tired, their arms ached with the strain; they needed rest.  All our troops, however, were in the fighting-line, and the royalist attacks never ceased.

Anjou fed his lines constantly; fresh troops took the places of the fallen; we might slay and slay, but the number of our enemies never seemed to lessen.  And in the midst of the terrible uproar a cry arose that our centre was wavering.  For an hour or more a battle of giants had been taking place there.  In front of our infantry the dead lay piled in a heap, but for every royalist who died Anjou sent another.

The strain was too great to be borne.  Our men were beginning to give way, and once more we galloped with the Admiral at headlong speed toward the point of danger.  We were too late; we should perhaps have been too late in any case.  The royalist foot-soldiers opened out, and from behind them poured impetuously a body of horsemen.