“Is Bellievre likely to recover?” asked one.

“I hope so; he is quite sensible, but very weak.”

“He did a splendid thing!  The Admiral is very proud of him.”

“That piece of information will go a long way toward pulling him through!” I said.

Just then Coligny himself came from his tent, and hearing our talk inquired kindly after my comrade.

“He is sensible, my lord, and I am hoping he may recover,” I replied.

“I trust so; we cannot well afford to lose such a gallant lad.  I must come to see him presently, and tell him how much we owe him.”

“That will do him more good than all the surgeon’s skill!” I said.

The excitement of the closing scenes of the battle, the uncertainty as to my comrade’s fate, and the long night’s watch had driven from my head all remembrance of the incident connected with Henry of Bearn, but the prince himself had not forgotten.

During the forenoon he came riding over to Coligny’s quarters, debonair and gracious as ever.

“I have come,” said he to the Admiral, “not exactly to pay a debt, but to acknowledge it.  I owe my life to one of your gentlemen; but for his bravery and skill with the sword Henry of Bearn would be food for the worms.  I trust he still lives to accept my thanks.”

“Le Blanc!  It is Le Blanc!” murmured my comrades.

“That is the name,” said the prince with his frank smile, “and there is the gentleman.”

My comrades pushed me forward, and I advanced awkwardly, hot with confusion, but—­I have no false shame about admitting the truth—­my breast swelling with pride.

“Monsieur,” exclaimed the prince genially, “yesterday we had leisure for but little speech, and my thanks were necessarily of the scantiest.  To-day I wish to acknowledge before your comrades in arms that, when I was sorely beset and had no thought except to sell my life dearly, you came in the most gallant manner to my rescue.  I have not much to offer you, monsieur, beyond my friendship, but that is yours until the day of my death.”

He paused here, and, unbuckling his sword, placed it in my hands, saying, “Here is the token of my promise.  Should the day ever come when you ask in vain anything that I can grant, let all men call Henry of Bearn ingrate and traitor to his plighted word.  I call you, my Lord Admiral, and you, gentlemen, to witness.”

I tried to say something in reply, but the words were choked in my throat; not one would come.  But a still higher honour was in store for me.  The Admiral—­the great and good leader whom we all worshipped—­removing my sword, buckled on the prince’s gift with his own hands.

“I rejoice,” said he speaking slowly as was his wont, “that the son of the hero who died for the Cause at St. Jean d’Angely should thus add honour to his father’s name.”

I managed to stammer out a few words, and then my comrades crowded around, cheering me with generous enthusiasm.  And, when the prince had gone, I had the further happiness of conducting the Admiral to our tent, and of hearing the words of praise he spoke to Felix, who would gladly have died a thousand deaths to have secured such honour.