The Refugees eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 366 pages of information about The Refugees.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE SCAFFOLD OF PORTILLAC.

And thus it was that Amory de Catinat and Amos Green saw from their dungeon window the midnight carriage which discharged its prisoner before their eyes.  Hence, too, came that ominous planking and that strange procession in the early morning.  And thus it also happened that they found themselves looking down upon Francoise de Montespan as she was led to her death, and that they heard that last piteous cry for aid at the instant when the heavy hand of the ruffian with the axe fell upon her shoulder, and she was forced down upon her knees beside the block.  She shrank screaming from the dreadful, red-stained, greasy billet of wood, but the butcher heaved up his weapon, and the seigneur had taken a step forward with hand outstretched to seize the long auburn hair and to drag the dainty head down with it when suddenly he was struck motionless with astonishment, and stood with his foot advanced and his hand still out, his mouth half open, and his eyes fixed in front of him.

And, indeed, what he had seen was enough to fill any man with amazement.  Out of the small square window which faced him a man had suddenly shot head-foremost, pitching on to his outstretched hands and then bounding to his feet.  Within a foot of his heels came the head of a second one, who fell more heavily than the first, and yet recovered himself as quickly.  The one wore the blue coat with silver facings of the king’s guard; the second had the dark coat and clean-shaven face of a man of peace; but each carried a short rusty iron bar in his hand.  Not a word did either of them say, but the soldier took two quick steps forward and struck at the headsman while he was still poising himself for a blow at the victim.  There was a thud, with a crackle like a breaking egg, and the bar flew into pieces.  The heads-man gave a dreadful cry, and dropped his axe, clapped his two hands to his head, and running zigzag across the scaffold, fell over, a dead man, into the courtyard beneath.

Quick as a flash De Catinat had caught up the axe, and faced De Montespan with the heavy weapon slung over his shoulder and a challenge in his eyes.

“Now!” said he.

The seigneur had for the instant been too astounded to speak.  Now he understood at least that these strangers had come between him and his prey.

“Seize these men!” he shrieked, turning to his followers.

“One moment!” cried De Catinat, with a voice and manner which commanded attention.  “You see by my coat what I am.  I am the body-servant of the king.  Who touches me touches him.  Have a care for yourselves.  It is a dangerous game!”

“On, you cowards!” roared De Montespan.

But the men-at-arms hesitated, for the fear of the king was as a great shadow which hung over all France.  De Catinat saw their indecision, and he followed up his advantage.

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The Refugees from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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