“The flag!” I cried, “follow the flag!” Straight ahead of us it went, now waving triumphantly aloft, now drooping, now swaying again, and high above the din of strife sounded my comrade’s voice, crying, “For the Admiral!  For the Faith!  Forward!  Forward!”

The daring hazardous exploit sent a wave of fire through every man.  We flung off our fatigue as if it were a cloak, dealing our blows as vigorously as though the battle were but newly joined.  And as we toiled on, following the flag, a great shout of victory arose on our right.  Henry of Bearn had thrust back his assailants; they were running fast, and his horsemen were hanging on their heels like sleuth-hounds.

The cry was taken up and repeated all along the line, and in a few minutes the enemy, smitten by sudden fear, were flying in all directions.  For some distance we pursued, sweeping numbers of prisoners to the rear; but our animals were wearied, and presently all but a few of the most fiery spirits had halted.

The victory was ours, but we had bought it at a high price.  Some of our bravest officers were dead, and Coligny looked mournfully at his diminished band of attendants.  We rode back to our lines, and to me the joy of our triumph was sadly dimmed by the absence of my comrade.  In the wild stampede I had lost sight of the flag, and no one had seen its gallant bearer.

“Has Monsieur Bellievre fallen?” asked Jacques, who had ridden well and boldly with the troopers.

“I do not know; I fear so.  He was a long distance ahead of us in the last charge.  I am going to search for him.”

“There is your English friend, monsieur; he is not hurt.”

Roger grasped my hand warmly.  “Safe!” he exclaimed; “I hardly dared to hope it.  It has been a terrible fight.  Our poor fellows”—­he spoke of the English remnant—­“have suffered severely.  Where is Felix?”

“We are on our way to look for him; I fear he has fallen.”

Roger turned and went with us.  “I saw him with the flag,” he remarked.  “’Twas a gallant deed.  It helped us to win the battle.  By my word, Cosse must have lost frightfully; the field just here looks carpeted with the dead.”

“’Tis a fearful sight to see in cold blood,” I replied.

Numbers of men were removing the wounded, but knowing that Felix had ridden some distance ahead we kept steadily on our way.

“’Twas here Cosse’s troops began to break,” said Jacques presently, “and ’tis hereabout we ought to find Monsieur Bellievre’s body.”

The words jarred upon me horribly; they expressed the thought I was trying hard to keep out of my head.

We went quickly from one to the other, doing what we could for the wounded, and hurrying on again.  It was a gruesome task, and the fear of finding what we sought so earnestly added to the horror.

Suddenly my heart gave a leap, and I ran forward quickly to where I saw the colour of the blood-stained flag.  A dead horse lay near it, and by the animal’s side lay my comrade.  His head was bare, and his fair hair clustered in curls over his forehead.  He was very white and still, and his eyes were closed.