The cunning burgher, as if still under the influence of the fright he had had, told of the night assault, and described the _three hundred_ savage adventurers who had scaled the Risbank fort, assisted, no doubt, by treachery within the walls, which he, Pierre Peuquoy, had not had time to unearth. "Who commanded these three hundred men?" asked Lord Wentworth. "_Mon Dieu_! Your late prisoner, Monsieur d'Exmès," was the armorer's ingenuous reply. "Oh, my dreams have come true!" cried the governor. Then, with a threatening frown, suddenly remembering what he was not likely to forget,-- "Why, this Monsieur d'Exmès," said he to Pierre, "was your guest, if I mistake not, during his stay in Calais?" "Yes, Monseigneur," replied Pierre, without embarrassment. "In fact I have reason to believe--why should I conceal it?--that my cousin Jean, the weaver, has had a larger share in this business than he ought to have had." Lord Wentworth fixed a piercing glance upon the sturdy burgher; but he looked Lord Wentworth fearlessly in the eye. As Pierre had imagined would be the case, the governor was too sensible of his own weakness, and too well aware of Peuquoy's influence in the city, to allow his suspicions to appear. After having put some few questions to him, the governor dismissed him with gloomy but friendly words. Left alone, Lord Wentworth gave way to overwhelming despondency. What could he do? The city, defended only by its weak garrison, henceforth shut off from all hope of succor by land or sea, and hemmed in between the Nieullay fort on one side and the Risbank fort on the other, both of which threatened instead of defending it,--the city could hold out but very few days longer; in fact, it might be only a few hours. A terrible state of affairs, indeed, for the haughty pride of Lord Wentworth! "No matter!" he said beneath his breath, still pale with astonishment and rage,--"no matter! I will make them pay dear for their triumph. Calais is theirs now only too inevitably; but I will at all events hold out to the bitter end, and will sell them their priceless conquest at the price of as many dead bodies as possible. And as for the lover of beauteous Diane de Castro--" He checked himself, while a hellish thought caused his sombre features to light up with a joyous gleam. "As for the lover of the fair Diane," he resumed, with a sort of satisfaction, "if I bury myself, as I ought and will, under the ruins of Calais, we will try and see to it, at least, that he has not any reason to rejoice too heartily at our death; his suffering and vanquished rival has in store for him a fearful surprise, and let him beware!" Thereupon he rushed from the house to encourage his troops and make his dispositions. Soothed and hardened at once in a measure by reflecting on some evil project, he exhibited such imperturbable _sang-froid_ that his very despair inspired hope in more than one doubting heart.