His appearance now, however, left Bernard de Rohan scarcely a doubt in regard to the nature of his usual occupation. When his cloak was thus thrown off, his chest and shoulders were seen covered with that peculiar sort of corslet or brigantine, which originally gave name to the bands called Brigands. His arms were free, and unencumbered with any defensive armour; and over his right shoulder hung a buff baldric, suspending his long, heavy sword. This was not all, however; another broad leather belt and buckle went round his waist, containing, in cases made on purpose for them, a store of other weapons if his sword blade should chance to fail; among which were those long and formidable knives which, in the wars of the day, were often employed by foot soldiers to kill the chargers of their mounted adversaries. Daggers of various lengths were there also, together with the petronel or large horse pistol, which was so placed, however, as to give free room for his hand to reach the hilt of his sword. In this guise he approached Bernard de Rohan, saying, "You see, baron, I am better prepared for this encounter than you are. You have nothing but your sword: you had better take one of these," and he laid his finger upon the butt of a petronel. "My sword will not fail me," replied Bernard de Rohan, with a smile. "I see, indeed, you were better qualified to judge whether these were brigands or not than I was." "They are no brigands," replied the other; "brigands know better what they are about;" and, as he spoke, he threw away his hat, and tied up his long black hair, which fell over his ears and shoulders, with a piece of riband. "I cannot very well understand," he continued, in the same low tone, "what has become of your people and the priest: I could see nothing of them from the height, and I almost fear that these villains, fearing pursuit, have broken down the little wooden bridge behind them, at what we call the Pas de Suzzette, where the stream falls into the river." "Hark!" said Bernard de Rohan. "They are coming up;" and, grasping his sword, he took a step forward. "Wait," said the brigand, laying hold of his arm. "Give your people the last minute to attack them in the rear. By Heavens, they ought to have been here by this time." The sound of horses' feet and human voices now became distinct from below, and oaths and imprecations were still heard loud and vehemently, as the captors hurried on their prisoners. "Get you on, get you on!" exclaimed one voice: "don't you see how quietly your lord is going." "He is not my lord," cried another, in a faint tone. "I am wounded and hurt, and cannot go faster." "Get on, get on, villain!" reiterated the other voice. "You would fain keep us till the fools behind mend the bridge and come up with us. Get on, I say! If he do not walk faster, prick him with your dagger, Bouchart. We will skin him alive when we get to the end of the march! Drive it into him!"