Turenne gave the word, and once again we swept like a hurricane through the street. The rebels awaited the onset, but the shock was too great. Back they went, steadily at first, then swiftly, and at last in headlong flight. Conde, brave as a lion--to my thinking no braver man took part in the fight--endeavoured in vain to rally them; only his staunchest leaders stayed at his side. Raoul, a horse's length in front of us, galloped forward, and struck furiously at the rebel chief. The blow partly missed, but the sword drew blood. "For the King!" shouted my comrade. "Down with Mazarin!" responded our opponents defiantly, and surrounding Conde forced him against his will to retire. Meanwhile our musketeers, swarming into the houses, maintained an incessant and destructive fire, The rebels in their turn lost heart, and even their leader's matchless courage could hardly keep them at their posts. A cheer on the right announced our success in that quarter, and presently arose an answering cry from the left. The three divisions had fought their way to the open space, and unless the Parisians unbolted the gate the rebel army was doomed. Paris was at their backs, we were in front, and they could not break through us. A band of their leaders held the last barricade with heroic courage. Separated from all their friends, they were in desperate plight; yet they blenched not. One after another they fell grievously wounded, and some among them bore the highest names in France. It was a pitiful sight, yet they refused to surrender, though Turenne, I am certain, would gladly have spared them. Presently Conde, who had meanwhile been endeavouring to stem the tide of battle elsewhere, observed their plight, and, collecting a band of devoted adherents, made a gallant attempt at rescue. Raoul, evidently thinking this a fine opportunity to seize the prince, spurred into the open; I raced after him quickly, others followed, and crying, "Down with Conde!" charged in a body at the princely rebel. While some of his friends rescued the survivors at the barricade, the others rode in our direction. With a ringing cheer we sprang at them, struck out furiously right and left, spurred our horses into the throng, pierced it in every direction, till finally it fell apart. Disdaining meaner foes, Raoul rode at the prince, engaging him in deadly combat. He still wore the King's gift on his breast, and fought as if he were the monarch's sole champion. Whether he was Conde's equal in swordsmanship I cannot say, but he kept the prince well employed. Suddenly, as they fought, the roar of La Ferte's guns broke out, and we had the enemy at our mercy. Conde, as if recognising this, began to withdraw, and Raoul was pressing on more vigorously when a rebel horseman, spurring toward the gate, cut him down. I saw the tragedy distinctly, but could do no more than utter a warning cry, which, alas, my comrade did not hear.