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Rh wild confusion over each other, with the blue choking smoke reeking up through the crevices. The explosion had blown in the wall and cut off the only path by which they could descend. Pent in, a hundred feet from earth, with a furnace raging under them and a ravening multitude all round who thirsted for their blood, it seemed indeed as though no men had ever come through such peril with their lives. Slowly they made their way back to the summit, but as they came out upon it, the Lady Tiphaine darted forward and caught her husband by the wrist.

'Bertrand,' said she, 'hush and listen! I have heard the voices of men all singing together in a strange tongue.'

Breathless, they stood and silent, but no sound came up to them, save the roar of the flames and the clamour of their enemies.

'It cannot be, lady,' said Du Guesclin. 'This night hath overwrought you, and your senses play you false. What men are there in this country who would sing in a strange tongue?'

'Holà!' yelled Aylward, leaping suddenly into the air with waving hands and joyous face. 'I thought I heard it ere we went down, and now I hear it again. We are saved, comrades! By these ten finger-bones, we are saved! It is the marching song of the White Company. Hush!'

With upraised forefinger and slanting head, he stood listening. Suddenly there came swelling up a deep-voiced rollicking chorus from somewhere out of the darkness. Never did choice or dainty ditty of Provence or Languedoc sound more sweetly in the ears than did the rough-tongued Saxon to the six who strained their ears from the blazing keep:

'Ha, by my hilt!' shouted Aylward, 'it is the dear old bow song of the Company. Here come two hundred as tight