They greeted Coligny with deafening cheers, when, after breakfast, and our simple morning service, he rode along the lines, accompanied by Henry of Bearn and the young Conde.  These gallant youths each commanded a regiment, and their flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes told how ardently they burned to distinguish themselves.

“There are the enemy, my lads,” said Coligny, in his grave, measured tones, “and we must beat them.  It is our last chance.  If we fail, the Cause is lost, and we shall find no mercy.  If we run away, we shall be cut down, for there is no place of shelter.  We must win the battle, or die on the field.”

“We will!” they cried, and there was a ring in their voices that spoke of an iron determination to succeed.

“And we,” said young Henry of Bearn, “will die with you.  Not one of your leaders will leave the field except as a victor.  It is victory or death for all of us.”

At these brave words the cheering broke out afresh, and my comrade, turning to me, exclaimed, “The battle is won already!  Those fellows will never retreat.”

They were, indeed, in fine fettle, but it was setting them a desperate task to oppose nearly three times their number!

The marshal began the attack with a cavalry charge, but, as the horsemen galloped forward, a body of arquebusiers posted in a ditch discharged such a stinging fire that our opponents wheeled round and rode hurriedly back to shelter.

“Well done!” cried Felix; “we have drawn first blood.”

They tried again with the same result, and then a strong body of infantry was pushed forward.  But the arquebusiers clung firmly to their post, and presently young Conde, sweeping round unexpectedly at the head of his regiment, charged and broke the hostile infantry.  It was a daring charge, and we waved our swords and cheered, as the victorious horsemen rode proudly back.

The marshal, however, was not to be denied.  Again and again he launched his horsemen at us, while his foot-soldiers crept steadily nearer.  All along our front the battle raged fiercely, and at every point our gallant fellows were fighting against overwhelming numbers.

“Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm!” cried our general, as he galloped over the field, bringing the magic of his presence to whatever part was in most danger.

It was in one of these wild rushes the incident occurred that laid the foundation of my fortunes, though the building took many years to complete.  I tell it here, not out of pride or vainglory—­though I was proud, too—­but because it is necessary to the better understanding of my story.

We had just left the handful of Englishmen, who had bravely repulsed a stubborn attack of cavalry and infantry on their position, when a cry arose of “Prince Henry!  Help for the prince!”

A cry of despair broke from us as we realized his peril.  How it came about I never clearly learned, for in the heat of battle one rarely sees more than the things close at hand.  Some said one thing, some another, but this I reckon was the most likely way of it.