He was just about to knock, although it was one o'clock in the morning,
when the door was opened from within, and a handsome young man came out,
who took tender leave of a woman on the threshold. The handsome young
man was the Marquis de Florac; the woman was Isabeau. The promised wife
of the peasant had become the mistress of the noble.

Our hero was not the man to suffer such an outrage quietly. He walked
straight up to the marquis and stood right in his way. The marquis tried
to push him aside with his elbow, but Jean Cavalier, letting fall the
cloak in which he was wrapped, drew his sword. The marquis was brave,
and did not stop to inquire if he who attacked him was his equal or not.
Sword answered sword, the blades crossed, and at the end of a few
instants the marquis fell, Jean's sword piercing his chest.

Cavalier felt sure that he was dead, for he lay at his feet motionless.
He knew he had no time to lose, for he had no mercy to hope for. He
replaced his bloody sword in the scabbard, and made for the open country;
from the open country he hurried into the mountains, and at break of day
he was in safety.

The fugitive remained the whole day in an isolated farmhouse whose
inmates offered him hospitality. As he very soon felt that he was in the
house of a co-religionist, he confided to his host the circumstances in
which he found himself, and asked where he could meet with an organised
band in which he could enrol himself in order to fight for the
propagation of the Reformed religion. The farmer mentioned Generac as
being a place in which he would probably find a hundred or so of the
brethren gathered together. Cavalier set out the same evening for this
village, and arrived in the middle of the Camisards at the very moment
when they had just caught sight of M. de Broglie and his troops in the