He had caught de Lescure's eye, and from
time to time turned his face up toward the window, as though anxious to
discover whether he who had before witnessed his cowardice was now
looking upon his prowess.
"By heavens! he fights well," said de Lescure to his wife, who was
gradually creeping somewhat nearer to her husband, but still unable to
face the horrors of that open window. "He is greatly changed--look--look
at him now; well done, Adolphe--well done: there, there; he's down! Poor
fellow, I fear he has struck his last blow: gallant Henri, brave
Henri--there, they are up again together; but Denot's face is covered
with blood. He still has his sword, however--well done, Denot: bravely
done Denot: no man of those living or dead, ever struck a better blow
than that."
These last words were distinctly heard by him to whom they were
addressed, and as he again turned up his face, a ray of triumph
illumined his sunken eyes; he did not, however, or he could not speak,
for the heat of the battle was carried back again towards the gate, and
the tumultuous sea of fighting men was hurried away from the spot where
they had been contending.
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