of England ?"

De Vac clapped his hand over the child's mouth to still his cries, but it

was too late. The Lady Maud and her lover had heard and, in an instant,

they were rushing toward the postern gate, the officer drawing his sword as

he ran.

When they reached the wall, De Vac and the Prince were upon the outside,

and the Frenchman had closed and was endeavoring to lock the gate. But,

handicapped by the struggling boy, he had not time to turn the key before

the officer threw himself against the panels and burst out before the

master of fence, closely followed by the Lady Maud.

De Vac dropped the key and, still grasping the now thoroughly affrightened

Prince with his left hand, drew his sword and confronted the officer.

There were no words, there was no need of words; De Vac's intentions were

too plain to necessitate any parley, so the two fell upon each other with

grim fury; the brave officer facing the best swordsman that France had ever

produced in a futile attempt to rescue his young prince.

In a moment, De Vac had disarmed him, but, contrary to the laws of

chivalry, he did not lower his point until it had first plunged through the

heart of his brave antagonist. Then, with a bound, he leaped between Lady

Maud and the gate, so that she could not retreat into the garden and give

the alarm.

Still grasping the trembling child in his iron grip, he stood facing the

lady in waiting, his back against the door.

"Mon Dieu, Sir Jules," she cried, "hast thou gone mad ?"

"No, My Lady," he answered, "but I had not thought to do the work which now

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