And it was instantly apparent that such was indeed his intention. His eye lightened, and he looked like an eagle about to pounce upon his foe, as he drew up his form to its utmost height, and whirled the long new blade about his head as though it had been but a feather. Far less sublime and striking was the attitude and swordmanship of De Laguy, though he too fought gallantly and well. But at the fifth pass, feinting at his head, Charles fetched a long and sweeping blow at his right leg, and, striking him below the ham, divided all the tendons with the back of the double-edged blade; then, springing in before he fell, plunged his sword into his body, that the hilt knocked heavily at his breast-bone, and the point came out glittering between his shoulders! The blood flashed out from the deep wound, from nose, and ears, and mouth, as he fell prostrate; and Charles stood over him, leaning on his avenging weapon, and gazing sadly into his stiffening features. “Fetch him a priest,” exclaimed De Nevers, “for by my halydom he will not live ten minutes!” “If he live five,” cried the king, rising from his seat, “if he live five, he will live long enough to die upon the block; for he lies there a felon and convicted traitor, and by my soul he shall die a felon’s doom! But bring him a priest quickly.” The old monk ran across the lists, and raised the head of the dying man, and held the crucifix aloft before his glazing eyes, and called upon him to repent and to confess, as he would have salvation. Faint and half-choked with blood, he faltered forth the words--“I do--I do confess guilty--oh! doubly guilty!--Pardon, O God!--Charles! Marguerite!”--and as the words died on his quivering lips, he sank down, fainting with the excess of agony. “Ho, there!--guards, headsman!” shouted Henry; “off with him--off with the villain to the block, before he die an honorable death by the sword of as good a knight as ever fought for glory!” Then De La-Hirè knelt down beside the dying man, and took his hand in his own and raised it tenderly, while a faint gleam of consciousness kindled the pallid features--“May God as freely pardon thee as I do, O my cousin!” Then turning to the king-- “You have admitted, sire, that I have served you faithfully and well. Never yet have I sought reward at your hand: let this now be my guerdon. Much have I suffered: even thus let me not feel that my king has increased my sufferings by consigning one of my blood to the headsman’s blow. Pardon him, sire, as I do, who have the most cause of offence; pardon him, gracious king, as we will hope that a King higher yet shall pardon him and us, who be all sinners in the sight of his all-seeing eye!” “Be it so,” answered Henry; “it never shall be said of me that a French king refused his bravest soldier’s first claim upon his justice! Bear him to his pavilion.”