A shrill scream and the gurgling cry of a dying man proved it, and the wild struggle that ensued on the stairs; where the uppermost, weighed down by the fallen men, turned in a panic on those below and fought with them to force them to descend.
Claude shuddered as he listened, as he waited, his pike still levelled; shuddered at the pitiful groaning that issued from the blackness, shuddered at the blows he had struck, and the scream that still echoed in his ears.

He had not trembled when he fought, but he trembled at the thought of it.
"They are beaten," he muttered huskily.
"Ay, they are beaten!" Marcadel--he who had trembled before the fight--answered with exultation.

"You were right.

We wanted no more men! But it was near.

If this rogue had not tripped our throats would have suffered." "He was a brave man," Claude answered, leaning heavily on his pike.