“We are betrayed,” said they; “but let us listen a moment,
perhaps it is only our comrades come in from the mountains, and if so,
our work is sure; listen!”

A distant discharge of shot confirmed this supposition for a moment,
but, in the next, the former sounds drawing nearer, the clashing of
swords, mingled with the voices of loud contention and with heavy
groans, were distinguished in the avenue leading to the chamber. While
the ruffians prepared their arms, they heard themselves called by some
of their comrades afar off, and then a shrill horn was sounded without
the fortress, a signal, it appeared, they too well understood; for
three of them, leaving the Lady Blanche to the care of the fourth,
instantly rushed from the chamber. While Blanche, trembling, and nearly fainting, was supplicating for
release, she heard amid the tumult, that approached, the voice of St.
Foix, and she had scarcely renewed her shriek, when the door of the
room was thrown open, and he appeared, much disfigured with blood, and
pursued by several ruffians. Blanche neither saw, nor heard any more;
her head swam, her sight failed, and she became senseless in the arms
of the robber, who had detained her. When she recovered, she perceived, by the gloomy light that trembled
round her, that she was in the same chamber, but neither the Count, St.
Foix, nor any other person appeared, and she continued, for some time,
entirely still, and nearly in a state of stupefaction. But, the
dreadful images of the past returning, she endeavoured to raise
herself, that she might seek her friends, when a sullen groan, at a
little distance, reminded her of St. Foix, and of the condition, in
which she had seen him enter this room; then, starting from the floor,
by a sudden effort of horror, she advanced to the place whence the
sound had proceeded, where a body was lying stretched upon the
pavement, and where, by the glimmering light of a lamp, she discovered
the pale and disfigured countenance of St. Foix. Her horrors, at that
moment, may be easily imagined. He was speechless; his eyes were half
closed, and, on the hand, which she grasped in the agony of despair,
cold damps had settled. While she vainly repeated his name, and called
for assistance, steps approached, and a person entered the chamber,
who, she soon perceived, was not the Count, her father; but, what was
her astonishment, when, supplicating him to give his assistance to St.
Foix, she discovered Ludovico! He scarcely paused to recognise her, but
immediately bound up the wounds of the Chevalier, and, perceiving, that
he had fainted probably from loss of blood, ran for water; but he had
been absent only a few moments, when Blanche heard other steps
approaching, and, while she was almost frantic with apprehension of the
ruffians, the light of a torch flashed upon the walls, and then Count
De Villefort appeared, with an affrighted countenance, and breathless
with impatience, calling upon his daughter. At the sound of his voice,
she rose, and ran to his arms, while he, letting fall the bloody sword
he held, pressed her to his bosom in a transport of gratitude and joy,
and then hastily enquired for St. Foix, who now gave some signs of
life. Ludovico soon after returning with water and brandy, the former
was applied to his lips, and the latter to his temples and hands, and
Blanche, at length, saw him unclose his eyes, and then heard him
enquire for her; but the joy she felt, on this occasion, was
interrupted by new alarms, when Ludovico said it would be necessary to
remove Mons. St. Foix immediately, and added, “The banditti, that are
out, my Lord, were expected home, an hour ago, and they will certainly
find us, if we delay. That shrill horn, they know, is never sounded by
their comrades but on most desperate occasions, and it echoes among the
mountains for many leagues round. I have known them brought home by its
sound even from the Pied de Melicant. Is anybody standing watch at the
great gate, my Lord?”

“Nobody,” replied the Count; “the rest of my people are now scattered
about, I scarcely know where. Go, Ludovico, collect them together, and
look out yourself, and listen if you hear the feet of mules.”

Ludovico then hurried away, and the Count consulted as to the means of
removing St. Foix, who could not have borne the motion of a mule, even
if his strength would have supported him in the saddle. While the Count was telling, that the banditti, whom they had found in
the fort, were secured in the dungeon, Blanche observed that he was
himself wounded, and that his left arm was entirely useless; but he
smiled at her anxiety, assuring her the wound was trifling. The Count’s servants, except two who kept watch at the gate, now
appeared, and, soon after, Ludovico. “I think I hear mules coming along
the glen, my Lord,” said he, “but the roaring of the torrent below will
not let me be certain; however, I have brought what will serve the
Chevalier,” he added, showing a bear’s skin, fastened to a couple of
long poles, which had been adapted for the purpose of bringing home
such of the banditti as happened to be wounded in their encounters. Ludovico spread it on the ground, and, placing the skins of several
goats upon it, made a kind of bed, into which the Chevalier, who was
however now much revived, was gently lifted; and, the poles being
raised upon the shoulders of the guides, whose footing among these
steeps could best be depended upon, he was borne along with an easy
motion. Some of the Count’s servants were also wounded—but not
materially, and, their wounds being bound up, they now followed to the
great gate. As they passed along the hall, a loud tumult was heard at
some distance, and Blanche was terrified. “It is only those villains in
the dungeon, my Lady,” said Ludovico. “They seem to be bursting it
open,” said the Count. “No, my Lord,” replied Ludovico, “it has an iron
door; we have nothing to fear from them; but let me go first, and look
out from the rampart.”

They quickly followed him, and found their mules browsing before the
gates, where the party listened anxiously, but heard no sound, except
that of the torrent below and of the early breeze, sighing among the
branches of the old oak, that grew in the court; and they were now glad
to perceive the first tints of dawn over the mountain-tops. When they
had mounted their mules, Ludovico, undertaking to be their guide, led
them by an easier path, than that by which they had formerly ascended,
into the glen. “We must avoid that valley to the east, my Lord,” said
he, “or we may meet the banditti; they went out that way in the
morning.”

The travellers, soon after, quitted this glen, and found themselves in
a narrow valley that stretched towards the north-west. The morning
light upon the mountains now strengthened fast, and gradually
discovered the green hillocks, that skirted the winding feet of the
cliffs, tufted with cork tree, and ever-green oak.