Finding their shot too light for battering purposes, already the French cannoniers were beginning to slacken their fire against the donjon of Phalsbourg, the old grey walls of which had long been worn by time, and battered in war. I gave an upward glance at the square projecting turret, where my proud and boastful enemy was lying, bruised, bound, gagged and everyway baffled, humbled, and secured. Then hurrying forward, I joined the crowd of armed men who were lining the walls of the tête-du-pont. Here eight iron 24-pounders were pouring a close and destructive cross-fire against the companies of the regiment de Picardy, then moving up to assault the rampart, and bearing ladders to cross the ditch, though the musketry from the tower told fearfully upon their ranks. To prevent recognition, I partially blackened my face by gunpowder; possessed myself of a dead man's musket and collar of bandaliers, and stepped upon the platform, within which the killed and wounded men lay thick. I had scarcely taken my place upon the parapet, when a small shell, or bombelle, exploded in the air, just above my head. Some of the fragments fell on me, but without doing harm. Then I fired a few blank rounds, to gain time, or to enable me to observe what was going on; and there I ran considerable risk; for the hat, so recently borrowed from my friend M. le Comte, was torn off my head by a musket-shot. Situated on rocks, that are steep and inaccessible on every side save the west, the tower of Phalsbourg is approached by a narrow causeway, which is cut by a deep ditch; and along this causeway, under a fire from the flankers which defended the drawbridge, the regiment de Picardy;--that noble old band, of immortal memory--advanced valiantly and resolutely to the escalade, with loud shouts of, 'Vive Louis le Roi! Picardy to the assault! Picardy to the assault!' They rushed to the edge of the trench, undeterred by the withering rain of lead that swept the causeway, piling it with dead and wounded men, many of whom rolled over it, down the defile on one hand, or into a foaming mountain-stream on the other,--on, on they came, led by their officers, splendidly-attired chevaliers in steel cuirasses, and velvet pourpoints, perfumed, laced, and ruffled; and at their head came one, whom before I had observed, with remarkable sangfroid, to be alternately caressing his horse's neck, and playing with his own hair, which was long and ringleted, like the tresses of a girl. On foot he now led the stormers, with a little standard of the fleur-de-lis in his hand; on his breast was the cross of the Holy Ghost, and in the band of his hat there was stuck a lady's fan. By the latter, I knew him in a moment to be Roger de St. Lacy, Colonel of the regiment de Brissac, a brilliant and determined soldier, for whom one of the fairest coquettes at the court of France had procured the title of Duc de Bellegarde.