Nevers's only answer was to follow up and thrust rapidly at Lagardere's retreating figure, while he cried, fiercely: "Too late." There was nothing for Lagardere to do but to defend himself in order to gain time with this passionate madman. Therefore, Lagardere drew his sword and parried the attack which Nevers was now making at close quarters. It was so dark in the moat that the two antagonists could scarcely see each other, and even the brightness of the blades was with difficulty distinguished. In a voice that was at once anxious and mocking, Lagardere cried to the duke: "Unnatural parent, do you wish to kill your child?" The last word stopped Nevers like a blow. He lowered his sword and spoke wonderingly: "My child! What do you mean?" Lagardere answered him, gravely: "At this moment Mademoiselle de Nevers is nestled in my arms." Nevers echoed him, astonished: "My daughter, in your arms?" Lagardere came quite close to the duke and showed him the bundle cradled in his elbow. "See for yourself; but step gently, for the young lady's sleep must be respected." Nevers gave a gasp of surprise. "What has happened?" Lagardere answered him, slowly: "Madame de Nevers gave this little lady to me just now from yonder window, taking me for you. There is a plot to kill the child, to kill you." Nevers gave a groan. "This is the hate of the Marquis de Caylus." "I don't know who is doing the job," Lagardere answered, "but what I do know is that the night is alive with assassins. I think I have got rid of some of them, but there may be others, wherefore prudence advises us to be off." He could see Nevers stiffen himself in the darkness as he answered, proudly: "A Nevers fly?" Lagardere shrugged his shoulders. "Even I have no passion for flight, but with a sweet young lady to defend--" Nevers seemed to accept his correction. "You are right. Forgive me. Let us go." The two men turned to leave the moat, but as they did so they were stopped by the sound of fresh footsteps on the bridge, and in another instant Nevers's page had descended the steps and ran to join them. "My lord!" he cried to the duke as soon as he reached the pair--"my lord, my lord, you are surrounded!" Nevers gave an angry cry: "Too late!" Lagardere answered him with a laugh. "Nonsense! There are but nine rascals." But the laugh died away upon his lips when the page hurriedly interrupted: "Twenty at least." Lagardere was staggered but emphatic. "Nine, duke, nine. I saw them, counted them, know them." The page was equally emphatic. "They have got help since you came. There are smugglers hereabouts, and they have recruited their ranks from them."