scimitar was struck aside by a youth covered with the smoke and grime of
battle. He caught up the child to his arms, and hurried with her through
the melee to the watchmaker's doorway. There stood a terror-stricken
woman--Madame Landresse, who had just made her way into the square.
Placing the child, in her arms, Philip d'Avranche staggered inside the
house, faint and bleeding from a wound in the shoulder. The battle of
Jersey was over.

"Ah bah!" said Dormy Jamais from the roof of the Cohue Royale; "now I'll
toll the bell for that achocre of a Frenchman. Then I'll finish my
supper."

Poising a half-loaf of bread on the ledge of the roof, he began to slowly
toll the cracked bell at his hand for Rullecour the filibuster.

The bell clanged out: Chicane-chicane! Chicane-chicane!

Another bell answered from the church by the square, a deep, mournful
note. It was tolling for Peirson and his dead comrades.

Against the statue in the Vier Marchi leaned Ranulph Delagarde. An
officer came up and held out a hand to him. "Your shot ended the
business," said he. "You're a brave fellow. What is your name?"

"Ranulph Delagarde, sir."

"Delagarde--eh? Then well done, Delagardes! They say your father was
the first man killed. We won't forget that, my lad."

Sinking down upon the base of the statue, Ranulph did not stir or reply,