Hitherto, knowing that he had not been noticed, he had husbanded his breath, and had only walked quickly, but as he came into the open he started at a run.  He was already nearly half way between the armies, and reckoned that before any of the French cavalry could overtake him he would be within reach of succour by his friends.

A loud shout from behind him showed that he was seen, and looking round he saw that a French general officer, accompanied by another officer and a dragoon, were out in front of their lines reconnoitring the British position.  They, seeing the fugitive, set spurs to their horses to cut him off.  Rupert ran at the top of his speed, and could hear a roar of encouragement from the troops in front.  He was assured that there was no cavalry at this part of the lines, and that he must be overtaken long before he could get within the very short distance that then constituted musket range.

Finding that escape was out of the question, he slackened his speed, so as to leave himself breath for the conflict.  He was armed only with a heavy stick.  The younger officer, better mounted, and anxious to distinguish himself on so conspicuous an occasion, was the first to arrive.

Rupert faced round.  His cap had fallen off, and grasping the small end of the stick, he poised himself for the attack.

The French officer drew rein with a sudden cry,

“You!” he exclaimed, “you!  What, still alive?”

“Yet no thanks to you, Monsieur le Duc,” Rupert said, bitterly.  “Even Loches could not hold me.”

His companions were now close at hand, and with a cry of fury the duke rode at Rupert.  The latter gave the horse’s nose a sharp blow as the duke’s sweeping blow descended.  The animal reared suddenly, disconcerting the aim, and before its feet touched the ground the heavy knob of Rupert’s stick, driven with the whole strength of his arm, struck the duke on the forehead.

At the same instant as the duke fell, a lifeless mass, over the crupper, Rupert leaped to the other side of the horse, placing the animal between him and the other assailants as they swept down upon him.  Before they could check their horses he vaulted into the saddle, and with an adroit wheel avoided the rush of the dragoon.

The shouts of the armies, spectators of the singular combat, were now loud, and the two Frenchmen attacked Rupert furiously, one on each side.  With no weapon but a stick, Rupert felt such a conflict to be hopeless, and with a spring as sudden as that with which he had mounted he leapt to the ground, as the general on one side and the dragoon on the other cut at him at the same moment.