I dodged the murderous downward stroke, and as the stock buried itself close beside me in the soft earth I rose on one knee and with a grim laugh I raised my pistol.

I brought the muzzle within a hand's breadth of his face, then fired and shot him through the head.

Perchance you'll say it was a murderous, cruel stroke: mayhap it was, but at such seasons men stay not to unravel niceties, but strike ere they themselves be stricken.
Leaping over the twitching corpse, I got out my sword and sprang after St.Auban, who, with Vilmorin and Yvonne, careless of what might betide his followers, was now within ten paces of the boat.
Pistol shots cracked behind me, and I wondered how Michelot was faring, but dared not pause to look.
The twain in the boat stood up, wielding their great oars, and methought them on the point of coming to their master's aid, in which case my battle had truly been a lost one.

But that craven Vilmorin did me good service then, for with a cry of fear at my approach, he abandoned his hold of Yvonne, whose struggles were keeping both the men back; thus freed, he fled towards the boat, and jumping in, he shouted to the men in his shrill, quavering voice, to put off.

Albeit they disobeyed him contemptuously and waited for the Marquis; still they did not leave the boat, fearing, no doubt, that if they did so the coward would put off alone.
As for St.Auban, Vilmorin's flight left him unequal to the task of dragging the girl along.