'The King is there,' burst out Belin, and a grim smile passed over de Rone's features as he nodded his head slightly in token of assent. As Belin spoke a group of about half a dozen riders galloped from the enemy's van, and, coming straight towards us, halted a bare hundred paces or so from the river bank. The leading horseman was mounted on a bay charger, and it needed not a second glance, nor a look at the white plumes in his helmet, to tell that it was Henry himself. Close beside him was a short, dark, thick-set man, with the jewel of the Order of France at his neck. He managed the grey he rode with infinite skill, and with his drawn sword pointed towards us, seemed to be urging something on the King. 'Who is that?' I asked. 'The King's viper,' answered Belin, 'who will sting him some day: do you not know Biron? _Mordieu!_' he added, turning to de Rone, 'shall we end the war, General; we could do it with a bit of lead that wouldn't cost the tenth part of a tester?' De Rone's brown cheek paled at the words, and for an instant he seemed to hesitate, and I could well understand his temptation. 'No,' he replied--'_drop that_,' he thundered to a musketeer who was poising his piece, and the man fell back with a disappointed air. '_Peste!_' grumbled Belin, 'we might have all been in Paris within the week, whereas now it will take a fortnight at the least.' 'Or a month, or a year, or never--eh, Belin,' gibed de Tavannes. 'Do you think the fair Angelique will be constant?' asked another. Belin glanced at the laced favour in his hat with a smile, and answered: 'God bless our ladies! They know how to be constant--see there, messieurs,' and he pointed to a single figure, mounted on a barb, that rode out of the French lines and galloped forward, alone and unattended, to the side of the King. We saw as the barb approached that the figure was that of a woman, and, moreover, that of a very beautiful woman. She was dressed in a hunting habit of dark green, with a black hat and black feathers, under which we could see the light of her fair hair. As she reined up beside the King, Henry turned to her, as if expostulating, but she bent forward suddenly and kissed his hand, and then with charming courtesy took out her kerchief and waved it at us in dainty greeting. ''Tis Gabrielle, the Duchesse de Beaufort herself!' exclaimed de Tavannes, and then gave tongue in a ringing cheer, which was taken up by us all, and rolled down the long line of battle, till its echoes reached us from even the furthest wings.