As Bussy turned, three men threw themselves on him; St. Luc rushed forward, and one of them fell. The two others drew back. “St. Luc,” cried Bussy, “by her you love, save Diana.” “But you?” “I am a man.” St. Luc rushed to Diana, seized her in his arms, and disappeared through the door. “Here, my men, from the staircase,” shouted Monsoreau. “Ah! coward!” cried Bussy. Monsoreau retreated behind his men. Bussy gave a back stroke and a thrust; with the first he cleft open a head, and with the second pierced a breast. “That clears!” cried he. “Fly, master!” cried Rémy. “Diana must save herself first,” murmured he. “Take care,” cried Rémy again, as four men rushed in through the door from the staircase. Bussy saw himself between two troops, but his only cry was, “Ah! Diana!” Then, without losing a second, he rushed on the four men; and taken by surprise, two fell, one dead, one wounded. Then, as Monsoreau advanced, he retreated again behind his rampart. “Push the bolts, and turn the key,” cried Monsoreau, “we have him now.” During this time, by a great effort, Rémy had dragged himself before Bussy, and added his body to the rampart. There was an instant’s pause. Bussy looked around him. Seven men lay stretched on the ground, but nine remained. And seeing these nine swords, and hearing Monsoreau encouraging them, this brave man, who had never known fear, saw plainly before him the image of death, beckoning him with its gloomy smile. “I may kill five more,” thought he, “but the other four will kill me. I have strength for ten minutes’ more combat; in that ten minutes let me do what man never did before.” And rushing forward, he gave three thrusts, and three times he pierced the leather of a shoulder-belt, or the buff of a jacket, and three times a stream of blood followed. During this time he had parried twenty blows with his left arm, and his cloak, which he had wrapped round it, was hacked to pieces. The men changed their tactics; seeing two of their number fall and one retire, they renounced the sword, and some tried to strike with the butt-ends of their muskets, while others fired at him with pistols. He avoided the balls by jumping from side to side, or by stooping; for he seemed not only to see, hear, and act, but to divine every movement of his enemies, and appeared more than a man, or only man because he was mortal. Then he thought that to kill Monsoreau would be the best way to end the combat, and sought him with his eyes among his assailants, but he stood in the background, loading the pistols for his men. However, Bussy rushed forward, and found himself face to face with him. He, who held a loaded pistol, fired, and the ball, striking Bussy’s sword, broke it off six inches from the handle. “Disarmed!” cried Monsoreau.