The stoppage of the fugitives had been caused by the appearance of a body of armed men riding towards them from the farther end of the defile. Uncertain whether these were friends or foes, but fearing they might prove the latter, Pomperant hesitated to proceed, halting for a brief space to consider what course lie should pursue. Marcelline proposed to take refuge in the fastnesses of the mountains, and undertook to guide him to a secure retreat, and, without waiting for his reply, forced her horse up a steep acclivity. Pomperant followed, but, ere he had climbed half the ascent, Florae and his men came up, and two shots were fired, one of which struck Pomperant's horse, and the wounded animal, after a plunge and a struggle, rolled down the precipice, dragging his rider with him. Pomperant, though much bruised, tried to disengage himself, but, ere he could do so, Florae had dismounted, and holding him down, presented a poniard at his throat. “I arrest your highness in the king's name,” cried Florae. “You are my prisoner.” “Why do you address me by that title?” demanded Pomperant. “For whom do you take me?” “For Charles de Bourbon, Constable of France, a rebel and a traitor to the king,” rejoined Florae. “Fortune has, indeed, favoured me. I shall obtain the ten thousand gold crowns offered by his majesty for your highness's capture.” “You will obtain no reward for my capture,” said Pomperant. “I am not Bourbon.” “This denial will not avail with me, prince,” rejoined Florae. “I know you too well. Yield yourself my prisoner, or----” “Never!” exclaimed Pomperant, seizing his antagonist's wrist, and preventing him from using the poniard. A desperate struggle then ensued between them. Florae was a very powerful man, and, being uppermost, had a great advantage over Pomperant, who, moreover, could not extricate himself from his horse. The issue of the conflict could not therefore be doubted especially as the troopers were preparing to aid their leader, when at this juncture a sharp report was heard from above. A well-directed bullet pierced Florae's brain, and he sank an inert mass upon Pomperant's breast. Looking up, the troopers perceived Marcelline on the edge of a rock, with a smoking petronel in her hand. The fate of their leader caused a momentary irresolution in the men, and this allowed Pomperant time to free himself from his dead antagonist and spring to his feet. In another moment he had possessed himself of Florae's steed, and, charging the troopers, hewed down one of them. Panic-stricken, the other galloped off, but he did not escape. Pomperant rode after him, and being better mounted, speedily came up with him, and by a tremendous blow cleft him almost to the girdle.