At Parthenay we overtook the Admiral and the few troops he had been able to collect.  When morning came, Felix was one of the first to meet me, and I had never seen him so down-hearted.  His bright smile, his happy, cheery looks had all gone; he hung his head in shame.

“It is terrible, Edmond,” he said; “the Cause is ruined, and we are disgraced.  I would rather we had all died on the field.”

“Nonsense!” I replied, endeavouring to hearten him; “we are of far more use alive than dead.  And to be beaten is not to be disgraced.  Had you seen the Count of St. Cyr die you would not use that word.  But what of our chief?  Is he seriously wounded?”

“His jaw is broken by a pistol-shot.”

“Yet I warrant he has not given way to despair!”

“No,” he replied with something of his old brightness, “a Coligny does not despair.”

“Nor does a Bellievre!” I returned smiling.  “We shall rally the runaways in a few days, and Coligny will command an army again.”

The defeat was, however, a heavier one than I guessed, and only Anjou’s folly saved us from utter destruction.  Instead of hunting us down with his whole force he turned aside to besiege St. Jean d’Angely, and thus gave our leaders time to form fresh plans.  Strong garrisons were sent to defend Niort and Angouleme, while the main part of the beaten army retired to Rochelle.

It was a dismal entry into the town.  The citizens came to meet us, the men sullen and downcast, the women white-faced and weeping.  Many were searching eagerly among the war-worn band for the dear ones they would never meet again on earth.  On that dreadful day scores of women learned for the first time that they were already widowed, and that their helpless little ones were fatherless.

Opposite the hotel I perceived Jeanne and my mother, and on seeing me their faces lit up with happy smiles.  I could not go to them then, but the instant my duties permitted I ran again into the street.  They were still in the same place, waiting.

“I thank God for this blessing, my son,” said my mother.  “I feared I had lost you for ever.  Let us hasten home; you are weary and faint.”

“But are you not hurt, Edmond?” cried my pretty sister.  “Oh, how my heart ached at sight of those poor wounded men!  They must have suffered torture on their long march!”

“Did Jacques not find you?” my mother asked presently.

“Yes, he was with me at the beginning of the last battle, but I have not seen him since.  He may have escaped though, for all that; numbers besides ourselves got away.  Bellievre is safe, and so is Roger Braund.  They have acted like heroes!”

“I saw them both,” said Jeanne, blushing prettily; “Monsieur Braund has been wounded.”

“Yes,” I replied laughing, “he will need a skilful nurse.  But where is my father?  Is he not still in Rochelle?”

“No,” said Jeanne with a sigh, “an order came from the Admiral three weeks ago for him to take fifty men to St. Jean d’Angely.  I know it is selfish, but I wish Edmond, oh, I wish he could have stayed with us.  It seems to me there is no safety outside the walls of Rochelle.”