Agatha herself still held to her father by one hand, but the other she was unable to extricate from her persecutor's grasp.

She did not scream or cry, for there was something within her--a memory of Cathelineau's last moments, of her brother's gallantry, and her father's loyalty, which strongly urged her to repress her tears before a republican; but her strength was almost gone, her nerves were all but over strung, when she heard a sudden noise behind her of some one rushing into the room, and Adolphe Denot quickly dropped her hand, and gave a yell of pain.

He had received a sharp blow of a cherry switch across his face, and the blood was running from both his cheeks.
Santerre, and the other republican officers in the room, put their hands to their pistols, and prepared to defend themselves, but the only person who appeared was a young boy: to be sure he had the dreadful red scarf round his waist; but he had no weapon but his cherry stick, after having given Denot the blow across his face, he made no farther use of that.
It was the little Chevalier who had arrived so opportunely; he took Agatha's hand in his, and pressed it closely, and took his place beside her without speaking a word.
"And who the deuce is this young bantam cock ?" said Santerre.
"I am the little Chevalier Mondyon," said Arthur; "a true royalist, and sworn knight to Agatha Larochejaquelin.

And that man there is a traitor and a false knave; he is not fit to be punished with a sword like a gentleman." "Well crowed, my bantam," said Santerre; "and be good enough to tell me where you come from.

No, friend Denot, no, we'll have no dagger work just at present." And putting his huge hand on the other's shoulder, he dragged him back as he was about to plunge his knife into the little Chevalier.
"I came from the cherry wood there," said Arthur.