the arm of the young man, covered with white satin, which glistened
in the moonlight, came from under his cloak, and Bussy felt his
horse give way under him. Schomberg had, with an address peculiar
to himself, pierced the horse's leg with a kind of cutlass, of
which the blade was heavier than the handle and which had remained
in the wound. The animal gave a shrill cry and fell on his knees.
Bussy, always ready, jumped at once to the ground, sword in hand.

"Ah!" cried he, "my favorite horse, you shall pay for this."
And as Schomberg approached incautiously, Bussy gave him a blow
which broke his thigh. Schomberg uttered a cry.

"Well!" said Bussy, "have I kept my word? one already. It was
the wrist of Bussy, and not his horse's leg, you should have cut."

In an instant, while Schomberg bound up his thigh with his
handkerchief, Bussy presented the point of his long sword to his
four other assailants, disdaining to cry for help, but retreating
gradually, not to fly, but to gain a wall, against which to support
himself, and prevent his being attacked behind, making all the
while constant thrusts, and feeling sometimes that soft resistance
of the flesh which showed that his blows had taken effect. Once
he slipped for an instant. That instant sufficed for Quelus to
give him a wound in the side.

"Touched," cried Quelus.

"Yes, in the doublet," said Bussy, who would not even acknowledge
his hurt. And rushing on Quelus, with a vigorous effort, he made
his sword fly from his hand. But he could not pursue his advantage,