The prince had seen the burning of the fleet, and heard the reports of the cannon and the explosions, without suspecting anything but a fierce combat, which must terminate in victory for Joyeuse; for how could a few Flemish ships fight against the French fleet? He expected, then, every minute a diversion on the part of Joyeuse, when the news was brought to him that the fleet was destroyed, and Joyeuse and his men fighting in the midst of the Flemings. He now began to feel very anxious, the fleet being the means of retreat, and consequently the safety of the army. He sent orders to the Calvinist cavalry to try a fresh charge, and men and horses, almost exhausted, rallied to attack the Antwerpians afresh. The voice of Joyeuse was heard in the midst of the melée crying, "Hold firm, M. de St. Aignan. France! France!" and, like a reaper cutting a field of corn, his sword flew round, and cut down its harvest of men; the delicate favorite--the Sybarite--seemed to have put on with his cuirass the strength of a Hercules; and the infantry, hearing his voice above all the noise, and seeing his sword flashing, took fresh courage, and, like the cavalry, made a new effort, and returned to the combat. But now the person that had been called monseigneur came out of the city on a beautiful black horse. He wore black armor, and was followed by three hundred well-mounted cavaliers, whom the Prince of Orange had placed at his disposal. By a parallel gate came out William himself, with a picked body of infantry who had not yet appeared. Monseigneur hastened where he was most wanted, that is to say, where Joyeuse was fighting with his sailors. The Flemings recognized him, and opened their ranks, crying, joyfully, "Monseigneur! monseigneur!" Joyeuse and his men saw the movement, heard the cries, and all at once found themselves opposed to a new troop. Joyeuse pushed his horse toward the black knight, and their swords met. Joyeuse was confident in his armor and his science, but all his thrusts were skillfully parried, and one of those of his adversary touched him, and in spite of his armor, drew some drops of blood from his shoulder. "Ah!" cried the young admiral, "this man is a Frenchman, and what is more, he has studied fencing under the same master as I have." At these words the unknown turned away, and tried to find a new antagonist. "If you are French," cried Joyeuse, "you are a traitor, for you fight against your king, your country, and your flag." The unknown only replied by attacking Joyeuse with fresh fury; but now Joyeuse was on his guard, and knew with what a skillful swordsman he had to deal. He parried two or three thrusts with as much skill as fury, and it was now the stranger who made a step back.