With loud shouts of 'Navarre! Navarre!' the glittering light horse of the Guard swept forward to the attack, in two heavy squadrons of fifty chevaliers abreast, with the royal standard, three fleur-de-lis or in a field _azure_, advanced above their bright helmets, their swords uplifted, and their white ostrich plumes streaming behind them. There was a lowering of lances along the German line; a flashing of pistols; a fierce shock, and rolling of men and horses upon the green turf or dusty road; and, with a shout of rage and defiance, the chevaliers of Navarre recoiled before the enemy, leaving thirty of their number dead or writhing on the ground, while the heavy dragoons of Brissac, led by Roger de St. Lacy, the gallant Duc de Bellegarde, advanced by double troops in dense order from a trot to full speed, and with the old _cri de guerre_-- 'Montjoie and St. Denis for France!' as all their brandished sword-blades flashed against the morning sun. A dreadful conflict took place, for Brissac's dragoons were heavy men, accustomed to fight on foot or on horseback; and in the melée we beheld with fierce impatience how helmets were cloven, buff coats pierced and shred, while heads and weapons, men, standards, and horses swayed or went down into that armed and living sea which struggled in the mountain gorge--went down to rise no more! Bellegarde was wounded by a splendidly-accoutred young imperial colonel, who wore a coat of steel lined with scarlet velvet, with crimson hose, a black plume in his helmet, and the eagle on his breast; and who, throughout this conflict, on which the morning sun shone with unclouded brilliance, was conspicuous alike by the glitter of his equipment and the rashness of his courage. Yells, shrieks, groans, the clashing of swords and the sharp ringing report of pistols echoed between the hills. Men were crawling out from the press covered with bruises, blood, and dust; wounded horses were hopping about on three legs, and others, in the throes of death, rolled madly from side to side, kicking furiously all who came near them. This roused all our fire; and, with something like a shout of fierce joy and anger mingled, we saw the dark dragoons of Marshal Brissac give way at last before the solid German ranks. 'Now, gentlemen, _it is our turn_!' exclaimed (he handsome young Marquis--the heir of Huntly--as he brandished his sword, and his dark eyes flashed with the fire of his nature, while he spurred to the front with a glove in his helmet--the gift of Lady Anne Campbell, of Argyle, whom he afterwards married. 'Montjoie and Saint Denis! France--France and Scotland, for ever! trot--gallop--comrades--les Gardes Ecossais, follow me--CHARGE!'