“They do, my lord. Ha! the smoke clears off. I see the Prince of Orange now. He is upon the ramparts.” “Bravely done, by Sainte Barbe! Would I were with him!” ejaculated Bourbon. “Do the men know I have fallen?” “Some few may know the sad truth, my lord,” replied Pomperant. “But the mass believe you are on the ramparts. They are shouting your name. Hark!” As he spoke, loud shouts of “Bourbon!--Bourbon!” could be distinctly heard above the terrible din of the conflict. “The walls are gained, my lord,” said Pomperant, after a brief pause. “Your standard is placed on the battlements. Listen to those shouts of victory, with which your own name is mingled. “I hear them,” cried Bourbon. “On! on! brave Philibert. On! on! to Saint Peter's--to the Vatican! I am with you!” he ejaculated, making a vain effort to rise. “My lord--my dear lord! turn your thoughts towards Heaven!” cried Pomperant. “I cannot pray amid this din of battle,” said Bourbon. “Oh! that I could have crossed those walls! Oh! that I could have reached Saint Peter's! But it was decreed that I should never enter Rome. Agrippa's prediction has come to pass, and the malediction I invoked has fallen upon me. I am justly punished for my sins.” “Then implore Heaven's forgiveness while there is yet time, my dear lord,” cried Pomperant. “Have mercy on me, Jesu! have mercy!” ejaculated Bourbon, fervently. “I have no hope save in thee.” So marked a change then took place in his noble features, that Pomperant thought all was over. A slight pressure of the hand, however, showed him that the duke was still conscious. All at once, Bourbon roused himself by a supreme effort, and said, “Farewell, my friend! To the battle!--away! Cover me--leave me!” With these words, he expired. Pomperant gazed for a moment with blinded eyes at the inanimate form of the hero he had loved so well, and served so long and faithfully, and exclaimed, in mournful accents, “Farewell, valiant Bourbon! Farewell, noble prince and gallant knight! Thou hast not left thy peer behind thee! Farewell for ever!” He then cast a cloak over the body, and, snatching up the duke's sword, which had fallen near him, pushed aside the throng of soldiers who were struggling to mount the ladder, and shouting, “Bourbon!--Bourbon!” gained the ramparts without difficulty. X. IN SAINT PETER'S. |The broad parapet was ankle-deep in blood, and was covered with dying and dead--Romans, Spaniards, Germans. But the defenders of the breach were all gone. Bourbon's broad banner was floating above the battlements, but his standard-bearer was lying stark beside it. Taking down the banner, and giving it to one of the Spanish soldiers who had followed him, Pomperant, amid a shower of bullets directed against him from the Pontifical soldiers, who were still masters of a neighbouring bastion, hurried along the ramparts in search of some means of descending to the city.