The host defending Roche-de-Frêne grew smaller, the host grew small and worn. Vigilance that must never cease to be vigilant, attack by day and by night, many slain and many hurt, death and wounding and, at last, disease—and yet the host held the bridge-head and the bridge, made no idle threat against Montmaure, but struck quick and deep. It did what was possible to the heroic that yet was human.... There came a day when the entire force of Montmaure thrown, shock upon shock, against the barriers, burst a way in. The strong towers, guardians of the bridge, could no longer stand. The Princess of Roche-de-Frêne must draw a shattered host across the river, up the hill of Roche-de-Frêne, and in at the gates to the shelter of the strong-walled town. It was done; foot by foot the bridge was surrendered, foot by foot the host brought off. From hillside and wall the archers and the crossbowmen sent their bolts singing through the air, keeping back Montmaure.... Company by company, division by division, the gates were passed; when the host was within, they closed with a heavy sound. Gate and gate-towers and curtains of walls high and thick—the armed town, the huge, surmounting castle, looked four-square defiance to the Counts of Montmaure. Now set in the second stage of this siege. Montmaure held the roads to and from Roche-de-Frêne. Montmaure lay as close as he might lie and escape crossbow bolts and stones flung by those engines caused to be constructed by men of skill in the princess’s pay. From the walls, look which way you might, you saw the coils of Montmaure. He lay glittering, a puissant dragon, impatient to draw his folds nearer, impatient to tighten them around town and castle, strangle, and crush! To hasten that final hour he made daily assay with tooth and claw. Sound of fierce assault and fierce repulse filled great part of time. The periods between of repose, of exhaustion, of waiting had—though men and women went about and spoke and even laughed—the feeling of the silence of the desert, a blank stillness. The spirit of the town was good—it were faint praise, calling it that! Gaucelm the Fortunate, Audiart the Wise, and their motto and practice, I BUILD, had lifted this princedom and this town, or had given room for proper strength to lift from within. Now Thibaut Canteleu supported the princess in all ways, and the town followed Thibaut. Audiart the Wise and Roche-de-Frêne fought with a single will. And Bishop Ugo made attestation that he wished wholly the welfare of all. He preached in the cathedral; he passed through the town with a train of churchmen and blessed the citizens as they hurried to the walls; he mounted to the castle and gave his counsel there. The princess listened, then went her way.