“Your Highness,” said De Vac, bowing to the little fellow, “let old DeVac help you catch the pretty insect.” Richard, having often seen De Vac, did not fear him, and so together they started in pursuit of the butterfly which by now had passed out of sight. De Vac turned their steps toward the little postern gate, but when he would have passed through with the tiny Prince, the latter rebelled. “Come, My Lord Prince,” urged De Vac, “methinks the butterfly did but alight without the wall, we can have it and return within the garden in an instant.” “Go thyself and fetch it,” replied the Prince; “the King, my father, has forbid me stepping without the palace grounds.” “Come,” commanded De Vac, more sternly, “no harm can come to you.” But the child hung back and would not go with him so that De Vac was forced to grasp him roughly by the arm. There was a cry of rage and alarm from the royal child. “Unhand me, sirrah,” screamed the boy. “How dare you lay hands on a prince of England?” De Vac clapped his hand over the child’s mouth to still his cries, but it was too late. The Lady Maud and her lover had heard and, in an instant, they were rushing toward the postern gate, the officer drawing his sword as he ran. When they reached the wall, De Vac and the Prince were upon the outside, and the Frenchman had closed and was endeavoring to lock the gate. But, handicapped by the struggling boy, he had not time to turn the key before the officer threw himself against the panels and burst out before the master of fence, closely followed by the Lady Maud. De Vac dropped the key and, still grasping the now thoroughly affrightened Prince with his left hand, drew his sword and confronted the officer. There were no words, there was no need of words; De Vac’s intentions were too plain to necessitate any parley, so the two fell upon each other with grim fury; the brave officer facing the best swordsman that France had ever produced in a futile attempt to rescue his young prince. In a moment, De Vac had disarmed him, but, contrary to the laws of chivalry, he did not lower his point until it had first plunged through the heart of his brave antagonist. Then, with a bound, he leaped between Lady Maud and the gate, so that she could not retreat into the garden and give the alarm. Still grasping the trembling child in his iron grip, he stood facing the lady in waiting, his back against the door. “Mon Dieu, Sir Jules,” she cried, “hast thou gone mad?” “No, My Lady,” he answered, “but I had not thought to do the work which now lies before me. Why didst thou not keep a still tongue in thy head and let his patron saint look after the welfare of this princeling? Your rashness has brought you to a pretty pass, for it must be either you or I, My Lady, and it cannot be I. Say thy prayers and compose thyself for death.”