Intoxicated with victory, the exultant franctireurs rushed through the village; the slight bonds of discipline that had restrained them at the beginning of the attack were rent asunder, and Count Repuin, their commander, with two or three French officers, attempted in vain to stem the torrent; all commands were unheeded. The franctireurs associated the villagers with them in a search for any Prussians that might still be concealed in the village, murdering any such when found, and dragging their corpses through the mud with savage yells, that made night hideous. Even women, drunk with the desire for revenge, aided their husbands and sons in this ferocious work, mutilating the dead in their fury and inciting others to the same horrors. But there were exceptions; here and there a wife or maiden of Assais risked her life to conceal some Prussian fugitive from the fury of husband or lover. Count Repuin looked on aghast at the savagery of the insane mob, who had thus thrown aside all law and order. He hated the Prussians from his soul, he was their implacable foe; but this wholesale murder, this cowardly mutilation of the dead, aroused his indignation; he felt that he had conjured up spirits that he lacked the power to control. Again and again he attempted to restore some degree of order, but his commands were received with shouts of derision, and he owed it to the interference of some of his officers that the rage of the franctireurs was not turned against himself. There were scowling looks accompanying muttered curses of the foreigner who dared to intercede for Prussians, and he was obliged to look on inactive at the murderous work. He was perhaps the only one of the victors who felt no joy whatever in the victory. His plan had been to inspire his raw troops with courage and confidence by an easy conquest, and he had intended to withdraw in good order with his prisoners as soon as the victory was won. He now withdrew, after a last vain attempt to restore order, to the dining-hall of the castle, where, with one of his young officers, he paced restlessly to and fro. At each outburst of exultation that reached his ears from without he vented savage curses upon the canaille, who did not deserve that a man of honour should command them. He knew only too well that each hour as it sped past increased the danger that the easy-won victory would be converted into a disgraceful defeat. The officers of the squadron had escaped; the two lieutenants on the ground-floor had probably been awakened by the first shots and had fled into the forest, leaving their uniforms behind them; from these there was not much to fear, but the captain and his companion, who had slain the Baron de Nouart when he had probably attempted to impede their flight, had also escaped, and upon two fleet horses. The shots fired after them had been unavailing; they could reach Nontron in a short time and summon the colonel, Count Schlichting, to the rescue.