Sometimes she would strive to speak calmly with Helen de la Tremblade, upon what should be the poor girl's future conduct. Sometimes she would inquire gently and tenderly into the past. But ever her mind would come back again to the battle, and she would give way to all the apprehension and anxiety she felt; would ask how the time went; would call the good farmer, and demand intelligence; would send out one of the attendants, to bring her any news that he could gather. Half an hour more flew slowly away, and De Montigni did not return; but then, quick spurring down the road, as if for life, came a small party of horse. The farmer, who was upon the watch, suddenly closed and barred the doors, and Rose saw from the window that, over their dusty armour, they wore scarfs of green, a sign that they belonged to the faction of the League. The worthy countryman called her and her companion quickly from the lower story, put up the strong oaken shutters, and bade them, if they needs must gaze, look from the rooms above. But the cavaliers paused not even to notice the house as they passed, and, hurrying on, plunged their horses into the stream, and gained the other side. "Surely the King has won the day?" said Rose; turning to the farmer, "the Leaguers fly. Is it not so?" "I know not, Mademoiselle," replied the peasant. "It often happens in strifes like these that men run away before the battle is lost or won. Their own corps may be defeated; but there may come many more to turn the fight." Even while he spoke a single horseman, with a scarf of white, rode down more slowly on a wounded horse, looked up to the window, where they stood, and cried aloud, "the King is killed," passing on without further pause. The heart of Rose d'Albret sank as she caught his words; but she grew fainter still when she beheld upon the road, a party of four, one on foot, leading a horse, on which sat a wounded man, with two others supporting him. For an instant she fancied--for the imagination of fear is as vivid and as false as that of hope,--that she recognized the figure of De Montigni. The next moment, however, she saw that it was an older and a heavier man, clothed in armour, and with the visor of his casque closed; but with the white signal of the Bourbon party thrown over his shoulder. "Oh let us go and help him," she cried. The farmer hesitated. "Do, do!" cried his wife. "Well, quick, then!" said the man, and hurrying down, the door was unbarred and opened; but still he held it in his hand ready to close it in an instant, if he saw others following. "What news? what news?" cried the peasant as the others came near. "Victory! victory!" shouted one of the men: "Mayenne in full flight and total rout!" "And the King? and the King?" demanded the farmer. "Master of the field; and following them like a thunderbolt, to Ivry," was the reply of one of those who rode beside the wounded man; "but help us, here," he added; "he is sadly hurt."