At that moment, a young page, who had stolen forward to unseat Miretta, was confronted by Master Hugonnet; and he, having no other weapons than his basin and shaving brush, instantly covered the page with a thick coating of lather, filling his nose and mouth and even his eyes with it; whereupon the assailant began to shriek at the top of his voice. All eyes were turned in that direction. At sight of that face completely covered with lather, a roar of laughter burst from all who were present, friends and foes, combatants and lookers-on; it was as if they were trying to see who could laugh the loudest. This incident suspended the combat for a moment. But the Sire de Jarnonville, who alone had taken no part in the general merriment, immediately renewed his attack on the peasant's staff. Whether because Cédrille's arm was tired, or because the sight of that gleaming weapon, whirling through the air and sometimes striking sparks, dazzled his eyes, he began to defend himself less vigorously. At last, a blow dealt with more force than usual broke the staff. The peasant was beaten; the Black Chevalier's weapon was already on the point of forcing him to dismount, when Ambroisine, who had left her post a moment before, suddenly reappeared, carrying in her arms a little boy of three or four years; and darting in front of Jarnonville, she held the child out to him, crying: "Take care, seigneur, you will wound this child!" Those words and the sight of the little boy produced a magical effect on the Black Chevalier. He paused and dropped his arm, which was raised to strike; the warlike ardor which enlivened his face gave way to an expression of sadness, almost of tenderness. He gazed for some seconds at the little fellow, who, not realizing that he was in the midst of a battle, was not in the least frightened, but smiled up at the chevalier, crying: "I'd like to fight, too!" Jarnonville stooped to kiss the child's forehead, and replaced his sword in its sheath. Then, turning to the young noblemen, who were utterly amazed at the change that had taken place in him, he said to them: "It's all over, messieurs; the treaty of peace is signed!" "What! all over? How so, if we are not satisfied?" "I tell you that it is all over! This peasant has been conquered, disarmed; what more do you want?" "We want him to apologize." "We want most of all to kiss the pretty girl whom he has _en croupe_." Jarnonville's only reply was to push aside with his arm all those who stood in front of the horse, thus clearing a passage for him. Then he made a sign to the peasant, who understood him and dug his heels into Bourriquet's ribs. This time the poor beast seemed to share his master's desire, and asked nothing better than to leave the field of battle. He trotted off at full speed down Rue Saint-Jacques, and Cédrille and his pretty companion soon disappeared from the eyes of the crowd.