On arriving at the spot he saw, as he expected, a carriage standing
by the road. One or two figures lay stretched on the ground; the
driver lay back, a huddled mass, on his seat; a man held high a
torch with one hand, while with the other he was striving to
recharge a pistol. Four other men with swords were attacking a
gentleman who, with his back to the coach, was defending himself
calmly and valiantly.

As he rode up Rupert unbuttoned his riding cloak, and threw it off
as he reined up his horse and dismounted. An execration broke from
the assailants at seeing this new arrival, but perceiving that he
was alone, one of the four men advanced to attack him.

Just as Rupert leapt from his horse, the man holding the torch
completed the loading of his pistol, and levelling it at him,
fired. The ball knocked off his hat just as he touched the ground,
and the man shouted:

"Kill him, Gervais. Spit him like a lark; he is only a boy."

Rupert drew his sword as the highwayman advanced upon him, and was
in a moment hotly engaged. Never before had he fenced with pointed
rapiers; but the swords had scarcely crossed when he felt, with the
instinct of a good fencer, how different were the clumsy thrusts of
his opponent to the delicate and skillful play of his grandfather
and Monsieur Dessin. There was no time to lose in feints and
flourishes; the man with the torch had drawn his sword, and was
coming up; and Rupert parried a thrust of his assailant's, and with
a rapid lunge in tierce ran him right through the body. Then with a
bound he dashed through the men attacking the traveller, and took