Dawn was at hand—the dawn of the direst day that ever Rome beheld.

Already the entire host of Bourbon was under arms, and impatient for the assault. The captains were forming their men in masses before the long dark line of walls which they were about to scale.

Grim and menacing did those walls and bastions look now, as they were thronged with armed men, and bristled with cannon. But they inspired no terror on the bands gathered before them. Sullen and stern in the grey light of morning loomed the Castle of Saint Angelo, but the fierce host Had no dread of its guns.

As the shades of night disappeared, and daylight revealed to them the fierce bands gathered before the Aurelian Wall, and forming a long line, extending from the Janiculum Hill to the rear of the Basilica of Saint Peter's and the Vatican, those stationed on the ramparts and bastions, though valiant men, were seized with dread, the aspect of the host being truly formidable.

Scarcely had it become light when word was passed along the whole line that the assault was about to be made, and the manifestations of impatience, heretofore exhibited, were increased in a tenfold degree, the men becoming so fiercely excited that they could be scarcely restrained by their captains.

While they were all eagerly awaiting the signal, a movement was made in the centre of the line, and Bourbon appeared, fully accoutred, and wearing his emblazoned surcoat over his armour. He was attended by his standard-bearer, carrying his banner, which was of yellow taffety, embroidered with flaming swords, and bearing the motto, “EspÉrance, EspÉrance.”

Close behind came Pomperant, while in front ran several Spanish soldiers with a long scaling-ladder, which they reared against the wall at the appointed spot.

All this was accomplished with the utmost rapidity. A charge was then sounded loudly by the trumpeters, and Bourbon, sword in hand, mounted the ladder, shouting in a loud voice, “Follow me, my brave fellows! On! on!”

But he had not ascended many steps when the barrel of an arquebuss was protruded over the ramparts, and the next moment the discharge was heard.

The shot struck the duke below the gorget and traversed his right side. Feeling himself mortally wounded, he made an effort to descend, but, unable to retain his hold of the ladder, he fell to the ground.

As he dropped, Benvenuto Cellini, with his face lighted up by a fierce exulting smile, was seen looking down from above.

“Saints be praised! the first shot has told,” cried the sculptor. “I have killed him.”

As the words were uttered, a hundred bullets from the infuriated soldiers whistled about his ears, but not one hit its mark.

Pomperant, who was close behind, and had just set foot on the ladder when Bourbon fell, now rushed to his wounded leader's assistance.

“Are you much hurt, my lord?” he inquired, anxiously.

“Mortally,” gasped Bourbon. “I have not many minutes of life left. But do not tarry with me, Pomperant. Supply my place. On! on!”

“I cannot leave you thus, my dear lord,” said Pomperant, “Perhaps you are not dangerously hurt.”

“I tell you I am sped,” groaned Bourbon. “My eyes are growing dim. What are the men doing? Are they mounting the ladder?”

“A hundred ladders are placed against the walls, and the men are swanting up them,” rejoined Pomperant.

“I cannot see them, but I hear their shouts, mingled with the rattle of arquebusses and the roar of cannon, “cried Bourbon. “Have any gained the ramparts?”

“None as yet, my lord,” rejoined Pomperant. “The foremost have all been struck down, but others are pressing on.”

“Where is the Prince of Orange?” asked Bourbon, anxiously.

“The smoke is so thick that I cannot discern him,” replied Pomperant. “The besieged make a desperate resistance. Our men are hurled from the battlements by scores.”

“But they do not give way? Others mount—ha?”

“They do, my lord. Ha! the smoke clears off. I see the Prince of Orange now. He is upon the ramparts.”

“Bravely done, by Sainte Barbe! Would I were with him!” ejaculated Bourbon. “Do the men know I have fallen?”

“Some few may know the sad truth, my lord,” replied Pomperant. “But the mass believe you are on the ramparts. They are shouting your name. Hark!”

As he spoke, loud shouts of “Bourbon!—Bourbon!” could be distinctly heard above the terrible din of the conflict.

“The walls are gained, my lord,” said Pomperant, after a brief pause. “Your standard is placed on the battlements. Listen to those shouts of victory, with which your own name is mingled.

“I hear them,” cried Bourbon. “On! on! brave Philibert. On! on! to Saint Peter's—to the Vatican! I am with you!” he ejaculated, making a vain effort to rise.

“My lord—my dear lord! turn your thoughts towards Heaven!” cried Pomperant.

“I cannot pray amid this din of battle,” said Bourbon. “Oh! that I could have crossed those walls! Oh! that I could have reached Saint Peter's! But it was decreed that I should never enter Rome. Agrippa's prediction has come to pass, and the malediction I invoked has fallen upon me. I am justly punished for my sins.”

“Then implore Heaven's forgiveness while there is yet time, my dear lord,” cried Pomperant.

“Have mercy on me, Jesu! have mercy!” ejaculated Bourbon, fervently. “I have no hope save in thee.”

So marked a change then took place in his noble features, that Pomperant thought all was over. A slight pressure of the hand, however, showed him that the duke was still conscious.

All at once, Bourbon roused himself by a supreme effort, and said,

“Farewell, my friend! To the battle!—away! Cover me—leave me!”

With these words, he expired.

Pomperant gazed for a moment with blinded eyes at the inanimate form of the hero he had loved so well, and served so long and faithfully, and exclaimed, in mournful accents, “Farewell, valiant Bourbon! Farewell, noble prince and gallant knight! Thou hast not left thy peer behind thee! Farewell for ever!”

He then cast a cloak over the body, and, snatching up the duke's sword, which had fallen near him, pushed aside the throng of soldiers who were struggling to mount the ladder, and shouting, “Bourbon!—Bourbon!” gained the ramparts without difficulty.