All that day we marched through a woody, irregular district, the
horsemen watching our movements, but retiring steadily at our approach,
as if wishing to lure us into some cunning trap. But Coligny was not to
be tempted; he kept his troops well in hand, and in the evening we
camped by the side of a small stream with a marsh in our front.

"We have caught him," cried Felix, in a tone of delight.

"Or he has caught us!" said I dubiously. "Anjou has some skilful soldier
at his elbow who chose that position."

On the other side of the marsh rose a rugged hill, and at the summit the
royalist general had pitched his camp. Rude breastworks, from which the
muzzles of several guns peeped out, had been erected, and altogether it
looked as if Monseigneur had provided us with a hard nut to crack.

Coligny rode out across the marsh to examine the enemy's position more
clearly, and I fancied there was a shade of anxiety on his usually
serene face. It was a heavy responsibility he had to bear, for, should
his troops be defeated, the Huguenot Cause was lost. There was no other
army to replace the one under his command.

"The longer you look at it the less you'll like it," said Roger Braund
cheerfully--for our English comrade often came over for a chat when we
had pitched camp--"Monseigneur has fenced himself in marvellously well."

"The more credit in digging him out!" laughed Felix. "Don't make Edmond
more doleful; he is half afraid now of meeting with a second Jarnac. De
Pilles"--the commander of our artillery--"will soon batter down those
walls, and a sharp rush will carry the hill."