Despair indeed on both sides--even at this hour when the merest incident might yet turn the issue of this world-conflict one way or the other. Bobby, as he steadied himself on his feet, had seen that the attack was already turning into a rout. Not only had Pelet's chasseurs held the Dutch and Brunswickers at bay, not only had their tirailleurs made deadly havoc among their assailants, but the latter now were threatened with absolute annihilation even whilst all around them their allies--British and Prussian--were crying "Victory!" Bobby could see them quite clearly--for he saw with that subtle and delicate sense which only a great and pure passion can give!--he saw the danger at the very moment when it was born--at the precise instant when it threatened that handful of black-coated men, one of whose officers was named St. Genis. He saw the first sign of wavering, of stupefaction, that followed the impetuous charge: he saw the gaps in the ranks after that initial deadly volley from the tirailleurs. It almost seemed as if he could hear those shouts of "Vive l'Empereur!" and the rallying cry of commanding officers--it was all so near--not more than three hundred yards away, and the clear, stormy atmosphere carried sights and sounds upon its wing. Another volley from the tirailleurs and the Dutch and Brunswickers turned to fly: in vain did their officers call, they wanted to get away! They tried to fly--to run, for now the chasseurs were at them with bayonets--they tried to run, but the ground was littered with their own wounded and dead--with the wounded and the dead of a long day of carnage: they stumbled at every step--fell over the dying and the wounded--over dead and wounded horses--over piles of guns and swords and bayonets, and sabretaches, over forsaken guns and broken carriages, litter that impeded them in front even as they were driven with the bayonet from the rear. Bobby saw it all, for they were coming now--pursued and pursuers--as fast as ever they could; they were coming, these flying, black-coated men, casting away their gay trappings as well as their arms, trying to run--to get away--but stumbling, falling all the time--picking themselves up, falling and running again. And in that one short moment while the whole brief tragedy was enacted before his eyes, Bobby also saw, in a vision that was equally swift and fleeting, the blue eyes of Crystal drowned in tears. He saw her with fair head drooping like a lily, he saw the quiver of her lips, heard the moan of pain that would come to her lips when the man she loved was brought home to her--dead. And in that same second--so full of portent--Bobby understood why it was that her sweet image had called to him for help just now. Again she called, again she beckoned--her blue eyes looked on him with an appeal that was all-compelling: her two dear hands were clasped and she begged of him that he should be her friend.