Sancho was standing there on the watch, his gun-barrel resting on one of the crenellations of the _moucharabi_, his body well hidden, his eye fixed on the corner of the wall at which his prey would appear sooner or later. The dark-browed Spaniard had the incalculable advantage that no anxiety concerning his own life could turn him aside from his purpose. He had no thought of the morrow in his mind, nor even of the passing moment, pregnant with perils. He asked of heaven but a single moment to gloat over and accomplish his revenge. And so, when the routed gypsies came and threw themselves, howling with fear, against the heavy stakes of the _sarrasine_, Sancho moved no more than the stones of the arch. In vain did frantic, desperate voices shout to him: "The bridge! the portcullis! the bridge!" He was deaf; of what consequence were his confederates in his eyes? The gypsies were compelled to rush to the _chambre de manœuvre_, in order to set themselves free. Their wives and children uttered piteous cries. It was a counterpart of the scene of terror and confusion that had taken place on that same spot a few hours earlier, among the bewildered vassals of the estate. Bois-Doré, still mounted and surrounded by his men, had all that was left of that horde of thieves and murderers in a cage. Their women, who had become veritable furies in defence of their children, turned upon him in the frenzy of desperation. "Surrender! surrender all of you!" cried the marquis, seized with compassion; "I will spare you for the sake of the children!" But no one surrendered: the miserable wretches did not believe in the generosity of the victor. They did not understand kindness--a rare quality among the noblemen of that period, we must agree. The marquis was compelled to restrain his men, in order, as he said afterward, to prevent a _massacre of the innocents_, if, indeed, there were any innocents among those little savages, already trained to all the wickedness of which they were capable. At last the _sarrasine_ was raised and the bridge lowered. Guillaume, who was as generous as the marquis, would have spared the weak; but, to the great surprise of Bois-Doré, the fugitives passed unhindered. Guillaume and his force were not there. "Ten thousand devils!" cried Aristandre, "those demons will escape. Forward! forward! after them! Ah! monsieur, we ought to have chopped them up into small pieces while we had them here!" He hurried away in pursuit, leaving the marquis alone under the archway, now open and unobstructed. He was very anxious concerning Mario, but dared not ride across the bridge for fear of riding down his own men, who were on foot and crowding across that narrow thoroughfare to overtake the fugitives.