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So
saying
,
she
left
the
apartment
;
and
Front-de-Boeuf
could
hear
the
crash
of
the
ponderous
key
,
as
she
locked
and
double-locked
the
door
behind
her
,
thus
cutting
off
the
most
slender
chance
of
escape
.
In
the
extremity
of
agony
he
shouted
upon
his
servants
and
allies
--
"
Stephen
and
Saint
Maur
!
--
Clement
and
Giles
!
--
I
burn
here
unaided
!
--
To
the
rescue
--
to
the
rescue
,
brave
Bois-Guilbert
,
valiant
De
Bracy
!
--
It
is
Front-de-Boeuf
who
calls
!
--
It
is
your
master
,
ye
traitor
squires
!
--
Your
ally
--
your
brother
in
arms
,
ye
perjured
and
faithless
knights
!
--
all
the
curses
due
to
traitors
upon
your
recreant
heads
,
do
you
abandon
me
to
perish
thus
miserably
!
--
They
hear
me
not
--
they
can
not
hear
me
--
my
voice
is
lost
in
the
din
of
battle
--
The
smoke
rolls
thicker
and
thicker
--
the
fire
has
caught
upon
the
floor
below
--
O
,
for
one
drought
of
the
air
of
heaven
,
were
it
to
be
purchased
by
instant
annihilation
!
"
And
in
the
mad
frenzy
of
despair
,
the
wretch
now
shouted
with
the
shouts
of
the
fighters
,
now
muttered
curses
on
himself
,
on
mankind
,
and
on
Heaven
itself
.
--
"
The
red
fire
flashes
through
the
thick
smoke
!
"
he
exclaimed
;
"
the
demon
marches
against
me
under
the
banner
of
his
own
element
--
Foul
spirit
,
avoid
!
--
I
go
not
with
thee
without
my
comrades
--
all
,
all
are
thine
,
that
garrison
these
walls
--
Thinkest
thou
Front-de-Boeuf
will
be
singled
out
to
go
alone
?
--
No
--
the
infidel
Templar
--
the
licentious
De
Bracy
--
Ulrica
,
the
foul
murdering
strumpet
--
the
men
who
aided
my
enterprises
--
the
dog
Saxons
and
accursed
Jews
,
who
are
my
prisoners
--
all
,
all
shall
attend
me
--
a
goodly
fellowship
as
ever
took
the
downward
road
--
Ha
,
ha
,
ha
!
"
and
he
laughed
in
his
frenzy
till
the
vaulted
roof
rang
again
.
"
Who
laughed
there
?
"
exclaimed
Front-de-Boeuf
,
in
altered
mood
,
for
the
noise
of
the
conflict
did
not
prevent
the
echoes
of
his
own
mad
laughter
from
returning
upon
his
ear
--
"
who
laughed
there
?
--
Ulrica
,
was
it
thou
?
--
Speak
,
witch
,
and
I
forgive
thee
--
for
,
only
thou
or
the
fiend
of
hell
himself
could
have
laughed
at
such
a
moment
.
Avaunt
--
avaunt
!
--
"
But
it
were
impious
to
trace
any
farther
the
picture
of
the
blasphemer
and
parricide
's
deathbed
.
Once
more
unto
the
breach
,
dear
friends
,
once
more
,
Or
,
close
the
wall
up
with
our
English
dead
.
--
--
--
--
--
And
you
,
good
yeomen
,
Whose
limbs
were
made
in
England
,
show
us
here
The
mettle
of
your
pasture
--
let
us
swear
That
you
are
worth
your
breeding
.
King
Henry
V
