“I can only guess.  There were twelve oars in the boat passing us on the lower river, while four others sat with guns in their hands; besides these are the Marquis de Serrato and the Capuchin priest, making a total of eighteen, all of whom we must reckon upon as being fighting men at a pinch.”

“Faith, merely enough to make the affair of interest,” muttered De Noyan, as I explained my words to him.  “Hardly enough even by your count, as the officer nurses a cracked rib, while the priest would prove of small moment when it came to blows.  I am for bearing down upon the knaves in sudden onset; it will require but a crack or two ere the villains let us by.”

“May the God of Battles place me within fair stroke of that accursed gray-backed emissary of Rome,” snorted the Puritan, his red hair erect.  “I promise, Master Benteen, to smite as did David at Goliath.”

I gazed uneasily about from where I lay at the feet of Madame, only to perceive her eyes resting upon me as if she waited anxiously my decision.

“Do not suppose,” she said quickly as our glances met, “that I shall shrink from the peril of encounter.  If it is best, you may trust me to do whatsoever may become a daughter of France.”

“Nor do we question it, Madame,” I returned warmly, noting the unrestrained flash of pride leaping into the careless eyes of her husband at these brave words.  “But to invite such conflict in our present condition would be sheer madness.  There are only two men among us, for I am but half a man, the rapier thrust has robbed me of so large an amount of blood; nor do we possess fit weapons to wage battle against so well-armed a company as blocks our passage.  De Noyan sports his straight sword, which would be well wielded at close quarters; I possess my rifle, with small store of powder and ball, all of which are likely to be needed to save us from starving in this wilderness; while Cairnes here might indeed prove a strong arm with the tuck I brought back with me, yet probably knows nothing of the secrets of thrust and parry.  Pish! ’tis not worth thinking about.  Pit such an outfit as this against eighteen well-armed men,—­for the Marquis can shoot for all his cracked rib, nor do I doubt the fighting qualities of the priest,—­and the venture becomes too difficult for parley.  Nay,” warming up as I noted the hot-headed gallant preparing for speech, “nor is this all we should have to contend with.  Above, along the upper river, there are at least three other expeditions of Spanish soldiery.  They are warned of De Noyan’s escape, already guarding every junction.  Suppose we succeeded—­which in itself would be a miracle—­in cutting our way out from here, could we hope to distance a twelve-oared boat racing against the current, or escape a clash with those others?  I know the difference between a bold dash and the utter foolhardiness such a hopeless venture as this would be.”

“Sacre! you appear strangely over-cautious all at once,” and I detected a covert sneer in the Chevalier’s low, drawling tone.  “The Spaniard’s blade must have let out the best of your blood.  Were you a soldier, now, instead of a mere forest rover, the odds you mention would only serve to stir you into action.”