A board was fastened transversely to one end of the cord; this end was thrown over the outside through one of the embrasures, while the cord was held by the four men. Brother Jerome, with his grey dress tucked up, a large knife at his belt, put his feet on the board, grasped the cord with both hands, and he was gently let down. When the rope was slack, the brother was at the foot of the rampart, and they waited.
At the end of half-an-hour, which seemed an age to Anseric, a slight movement given to the cord intimated that brother Jerome was returning. The cord tightened, and the four men had soon hoisted the brother up to the merlons. "Well?" said Anseric. "The vavassor is there; I was very nearly killing him, taking him for a Burgundian, for he has the dress of one; it was he who recognised me and called me by my name." "Well! well! Eleanor?"--"All are there concealed, for the Burgundians are not far off; in this diabolical weather they are earthed like rabbits; no time must be lost. Let down a _barquette_ at the end of the cord; we will hoist up the Lady Eleanor, and the others afterwards, if the Burgundians let us."
The _barquette_ was quickly brought, and firmly attached to the cord, then let down; a shake of the rope intimated that Pierre Landry was below: soon after, a second shake intimated that the _barquette_ was loaded. They hoisted, and dame Eleanor very soon showed her face at the battlement; all hands lifted her to the arms of her husband. The two women, the captain, the eleven men-at-arms, and the three monks were thus hoisted, without mishap, but were wetted to the skin.
In spite of the loss of the bailey, and the death of a good number on their side, Anseric's men were full of joy when at dawn the defenders were told that an army of the King of France was coming to their relief, and that it was only a question of continuing the defence a few days longer.
Eleanor's mission had perfectly succeeded. The king, Philip Augustus, who appeared to hesitate at first, had quickly determined when the messenger Jean Otté came to tell Eleanor of the burning of the abbey. The king had desired to see this messenger, and the latter, who knew whom he had to deal with, had recounted how the duke's men, without warning, without any provocation, had taken possession of the monastery, had set it on fire, had massacred some of the monks, and driven out those who remained. Soon after, a letter from the abbot of Cluny came to confirm the fact, imploring the justice of the king.