Above all, the troopers were fighting for pay; we were fighting
for life.
The four men charged us fiercely, and while we were fighting just inside
the room, Frances worked her way from behind our antagonists toward the
battered door and was about to make her escape when one of the king's men
struck her a cowardly blow with the hilt of his sword, and she fell to
the floor at the head of the stairs.
"You and Hamilton take her to the boat," cried De Grammont, speaking to
me, but continuing to fence, as though by instinct. "I'll hold the door
till you call; then I'll run. The next best thing to fighting is
running."
I regretted the use of Hamilton's name, as it would betray his presence,
if overheard, which otherwise would not have been suspected, all of us
being well masked. But I had no time to waste in vain regrets, so George
and I lifted Frances from the floor and helped her down to the boat,
leaving De Grammont just outside the battered door, defending himself
nobly against four armed men and keeping them inside the king's closet.
He seemed to be enjoying himself, for he was laughing, bowing, parrying,
and thrusting, as though he were at a frolic rather than a fight. There
is but one people on earth in whose blood is mingled fire and ice--the
French.
When we reached the water, we found that the running tide had carried the
boat a short distance down-stream, but Bettina was standing on the stern
thwart, bending this way and that in her endeavor to scull back to the
landing by means of the steering oar.
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