One of those great heavy oaken chests such as formerly served the purpose of holding clothing and linen, before the invention of chests of drawers, stood in the hall, and this trunk they dragged out, and set up on end in the doorway of the staircase. It fitted so closely into the space that it blocked up the entrance, leaving just room enough for the passage of a single man, thus affording them an excellent chance to kill their assailants one by one. It seemed somewhat doubtful whether any of them would attempt to enter. Meanwhile, the obstructed entrance gave them a respite, during which they counted the men. Of the original nineteen, but seven remained, including the Imânus; and he and the Marquis were the only ones who had not been wounded. The five wounded men, who were still active,--for in the excitement of battle no man would succumb to anything less than a mortal wound,--- were Chatenay, called Robi, Guinoiseau, Hoisnard, Branche-d'Or, Brin-d'Amour, and Grand-Francoeur. All the others were dead. Their ammunition was exhausted, and their cartridge-boxes were empty. On counting the cartridges, they found that there were just four rounds apiece among the seven men. Death was now their only resource. Behind them yawned the dreadful precipice. They could hardly have been nearer to the edge. Meanwhile, the attack had just begun again,--slowly, it is true, but none the less determined. As the assailants advanced, they could hear the butt-end of their muskets strike on each stair by way of testing its security. All means of escape were cut off. By way of the library? Six guns stood on the plateau, with matches lighted. Through the rooms overhead? To what avail? Opening on to the platform as they did, they simply offered an opportunity to hurl themselves from the summit of the tower into the depths below. And now the seven survivors of this epic band realized the hopelessness of their position; within that solid wall, which, though protecting for the moment, would in the end betray, they were practically prisoners, although not as yet really captured. The voice of the Marquis broke the silence. "My friends, all is over," he said. Then, after a pause, he added,-- "Grand-Francoeur will for the time being resume the duties of the Abbé Turmeau." All knelt, rosary in hand. The sounds of the butt-ends of the besiegers' guns came nearer and nearer. Grand-Francoeur, bleeding from a gunshot wound which had grazed his skull and torn away his hairy leathern cap, raised a crucifix in his right hand; the Marquis, a thorough sceptic, knelt on one knee. "Let each one confess his sins aloud. Speak, Monseigneur." And the Marquis replied, "I have killed my fellow-men." "And I the same," said Hoisnard. "And I," said Guinoiseau. "And I," said Brin-d'Amour. "And I," said Chatenay. "And I," said the Imânus. Then Grand-Francoeur repeated: "In the name of the Most Holy Trinity I absolve you. May your souls depart in peace."