'Ha!' he exclaimed, thrusting at me furiously; 'welcome to this meeting, M. Blane. Mordieu! you have kept your appointment well; now I am no longer M. l'Abbé of the tavern, but a reitre who will skewer you on his sword like a pigeon on a spit.' 'Your present guise becomes you better than the garb of a spy,' said I, dealing him a blow which cleft a gilded passguard off his cuirass. 'Tudieu, my fine fellow! I find that I must kill you, then--here is cold steel for a hot heart! Lorraine, Lorraine, and down with the Fleur-de-lis!' he exclaimed, pressing fiercely on me; but the war-cry brought so many other horsemen and swords into the melée, that we almost immediately, and perhaps fortunately, separated. Our veteran Marechal de Logis was fighting valiantly in the front rank to capture a standard, the bearer of which, a richly accoutred cavalier, struck the sword from his hand, and was about to slay the fine old man, when I drove up his blade, and dashed Dagobert almost on his hind legs between them. The Imperialist was a finished swordsman; but perceiving that he was weary, I resolved to force his guard. He could barely cover himself on the side opposed to me, so pressing forward I struck the fort of my sword furiously on his blade, and thus succeeded in giving him a cut on the right shoulder; and while taking care to receive his sword, as it came forward, on the cross-bar of my hilt, I ran him through the body, and wrenched away the standard. The blood poured over my glove and pommel as he fell from his saddle, and there was an end of my poor Lorrainer, for the time at least. He was the Count de Bitche, colonel of petardiers under Duke Charles--the same infamous Count who had abducted and strangled the beautiful Countess of Lutzelstein, so I have no reason to deplore very much, that my lunge through his Lordship's ribs proved so successful. The standard I had taken bore the three wings of Lorraine, and was borne by the Prince of Vaudemont's horse. 'Arthur Blane,' said the old Marechal de Logis, 'I thank you for that timely succour and good service. I am getting old now; a man, like a drum-head, cannot last for ever--both wear out in time; but I have seen a day when no man in Europe could have stricken a sword from Patrick Gordon's hand.' The veteran had provided himself with another weapon, and was spurring on once more; but now, the rout of the enemy's cavalry was general, and they fled at full speed, goading and goring their horses' flanks, as they retired past Bitche, towards the stronger citadel of La Mothe, which lay some miles distant. For two miles we--the cuirassiers of the Scottish Guard--together with the Navarrese light horse, and the dragoons of Brissac, followed them, killing and capturing at every step of the way, though the valiant young Prince of Vaudemont made no less than nine attempts to rally them and to repulse us.