The Emperor allowed but a few hours of rest, for he had decided to storm the city while yet the hearts of the knights beat high with victory and before the enemy could make the necessary preparations for defence. Everything was made ready in the gray of twilight, and at break of day the general assault began. The enemy, who imagined they alone excelled in swift movements, found themselves outdone. Surprised by the unexpected attack, some of them became panic-stricken, but the most of them, who were only accustomed to fighting in the open country, could not stand confinement within city walls. Troops of cavalry rode helplessly up and down the streets, seeking some way of escape and finding none. Desperate over the possibility of a Christian victory, the foot-soldiers fought upon the walls. The Germans in the lead, bold as lions, climbed the scaling ladders in spite of all obstacles. Descending the walls, they plunged into the very thick of the enemy, shouting, “Christ triumphs!” and piled the streets with Turkish dead. A terrible panic seized the Moslems, and they fled helter-skelter, hotly pursued by the Christians. No resistance was attempted; flight was their only thought. They dared not surrender to an enemy whom they had so greatly incensed and for whom they had shown so little consideration. Indeed, the Christians would have made them no offer of peace, so intense was their indignation. From the Emperor down to the lowest man in the ranks they fought so continuously and so unweariedly that they had no time to think of making such an offer, to say nothing of negotiating a treaty. The Turks at last opened the gates to secure their liberty and life, and out they poured, with the Sultan at their head, eager to escape. When they reached the camp of the Christians they gave vent to their rage by slaying the sick and non-combatants. Our young friends suddenly found themselves surrounded by furious Moslems swinging their scymitars over their unprotected heads. Faithful to his trust their care-taker sought to defend them, but fell in the unequal contest, and the same fate seemed to threaten them. A muscular, sun-browned hand was already directing a blow at Raymond’s head with a blood-stained scymitar, but the blow was averted by a sudden order. The enemies conversed in a language the brothers did not understand, with the result that their lives were spared, although they were dragged away in spite of all resistance. They were placed upon light, fleet horses, and, guarded by a strong band of the enemy, left the camp, fleeing afar with the wind’s speed, they knew not whither.