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 in the mad phrenzy 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 fireflashes 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-Bœuf will be singled out to go alone?—No—the infidel Templar—the licentious De Bracy—Ulrica, the foul murthering strumpet—the men who aided my enterprizes—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 rung again. "Who laughed there!" exclaimed Front-de-Bœuf, in altered mood, for the noise of the conflict did not prevent the echoes of his own frenzied laughter from returning upon his ear—"Who laughed there?—Ulrica, was it thou?—Speak, witch, and I forgive thee—for, only thou