"Some of them as we passed muttered violent threats."
Leaving the Admiral at the Louvre with a small escort, we returned to theHôtel Coligny, discussing the great event of the day. The citizens were slowly dispersing, and as we passed some of them muttered violent threats against the Huguenots; others cheered for Henry of Guise, a few raised a cheer for Monseigneur, but I did not hear a word of welcome for the king, or for Henry of Navarre, or for our own noble leader—the most chivalrous of them all.
"Charles hasn't increased his popularity by this marriage!" I remarked.
"No," said one of my comrades, "he has lost ground among the Parisians. It will frighten him; he will be more afraid of Guise than ever. How the fools roared for the duke! Perhaps they would like him for king! They would find they had their master, for all his smooth speech and courtly manners."
"The people's coldness may do good in one way," remarked Felix. "Charles may rush into a war withSpain, thinking that a brilliant victory or two would win back his popularity."
"The war with Spain will never come about," growled a grizzled veteran, who had fought with Coligny on his earliest battle-field. "Guise, the Pope, Monseigneur, and the Queen-Mother are all against it, and Charles is just a lump of clay in their hands: they can mould him as they please."
"Well," exclaimed Felix, as we entered the courtyard, "in my opinion it's either a Spanish war, or a civil war, and Charles must take his choice."
It was the evening of August 20. The Louvre was brilliantly illuminated; the gardens and the various apartments were crowded with the beauty and nobility of France. Catholics and Huguenots mingled together on the friendliest terms; everything pointed to peace and goodwill. Henry of Navarre and his handsome queen were there, and so were Monseigneur and Henry of Guise.
One could hardly think of danger in the midst of so much mirth and gaiety, and yet, though unseen by us, the shadow of death was hovering very near!
Felix and I had gone to the palace together, but, as he basely deserted me for Jeanne, I was left to wander about alone. I was, however, by no means depressed by my isolation. The lights, the music, the beauty of the ladies, and the handsome uniforms of the men, all filled me with the liveliest pleasure, and two hours rapidly slipped by.
Now and again I exchanged greetings with some cavalier whose acquaintance I had made during my stay in the city, and amongst others I met the Catholic officer whohad befriended me on the night of my arrival in Paris.
"This is far better than cutting each other's throats, monsieur," said he, with a wave of his hand. "Your Henry of Navarre has proved a real peacemaker!"
"And the king!" I responded, unwilling to be outdone in generosity. "We must not forget his part in bringing about this happy state of affairs!"
"Nor the noble Coligny's. I expect the Admiral has had more to do with it than both the others."
Now it was exceedingly pleasant to hear my patron praised in this way by one of his opponents, and I began to think that after all our prospects were less gloomy than the conversation of my comrades would lead one to suppose.
Toward midnight I was crossing the hall in order to speak with Felix and my sister, who were standing with the Countess Guichy and several ladies, when I caught sight of Renaud L'Estang. He had been in attendance upon Monseigneur, but was now at liberty. Turning aside, I went to meet him, intending to thank him for his timely warning.
"Ah, monsieur," said he pleasantly, "I have been looking for you. I have something to say, and one can talk without fear in a crowded room. But do not let people guess by your face that I am saying anything serious. That lady," and he glanced toward Jeanne, "is, I believe, your sister?"
"Yes," I replied, wondering what he could say which concerned Jeanne.
"Listen," he continued. "I have tried to keep the promise made to you that miserable night in Rochelle."
"You have more than kept your promise," I interrupted eagerly.
"I have done what I could. It is not much, but enough perhaps to show I am your friend. Now, ask me no questions; I cannot reply to them; but for the love you bear your sister answer what I ask you. Can you make an excuse to leave Paris?"
"And desert my patron?"
"No," said he thoughtfully, "it is too much to expect from a man of honour; but there is your servant! He is shrewd and capable, and will fight to the death in your sister's defence."
"Yes," I exclaimed, "you judge him rightly."
"Do not start; keep a smile on your face, but understand all the time that I am speaking of a matter of life and death. Invent what excuse you like, but to-morrow morning send Jacques to Rochelle in charge of your sister, and let him make no delay on the road. Brush aside all objections; do not be influenced by any one; follow my advice, and I pledge my word that you will not regret it."
"This is somewhat startling!" I exclaimed; "you must have some good reasons for such advice as this. Can you not trust me?"
"Monsieur," he replied a little bitterly, "I have already told you that I have my own code of honour. It sounds strange from the lips of an adventurer, does it not? But I cannot betray the man whose bread I eat. As a matter of fact, I know nothing; to-morrow I may know more—that is why I am speaking to-night. Now I must leave you, but I say again with all the earnestness Ipossess, send your sister to Rochelle in the morning, even if you have to force her to go!"
Raising his voice he uttered some commonplace about the brilliancy of the scene, smiled brightly, waved his hand, and disappeared, leaving me lost in wonder and perplexity.
What was the meaning of this strange warning? He was in deadly earnest; of that there could be no doubt, and yet he refused to give me the slightest clue to the mystery. But perhaps that very refusal would help to reveal the secret! I must discuss the matter with Felix, and meanwhile try to bear myself as if nothing had happened.
As a matter of precaution, however, I told Jeanne I had received news from Rochelle, and that it might be necessary for her to travel to that town.
"There is nothing at which to be alarmed," I continued, "but we will talk about it to-morrow. If it really becomes necessary for you to go, I shall want you to depart without delay."
Jeanne was a brave girl. "Do you fear danger, Edmond?" she asked. "If there is danger, I will stay and share it with you."
"What a queer fancy!" I exclaimed lightly. "It is just a little matter in which you can be of assistance to the Cause"; at which she smiled, saying, "Anything I can do for the Cause, Edmond, I will do willingly."
"Even leave Paris!" I laughed, and having driven away her fears I left her.
Felix was very bright and joyous that night, and so merry in himself that he failed to notice my thoughtfulness. I said nothing of L'Estang's communication until we were alone in our room, when I told him the story.
I had not to ask for his opinion. Almost before I had finished, he exclaimed with decision, "Whatever this does or does not mean, Jeanne must go to Rochelle. L'Estang has proved himself your friend; he can have no reason for deceiving you."
"I will answer for L'Estang's loyalty."
"Then send Jeanne away; or, rather, take her yourself."
"That is impossible! If there is anything in L'Estang's story, it points to a plot against our chief. He is evidently afraid of trouble, perhaps of fierce fighting between the two parties, and thinks my sister would be safer out of the city."
"He gave you no hint?"
"Not the slightest. He said he knew nothing, but had he known he would not have betrayed his own party. We must remember that though he has done so much for me, he belongs to the side of our opponents. It must have cost him a struggle to tell what he did."
"Yes," said Felix thoughtfully, "between loyalty to his party and friendship for you he was in a cleft stick! You will repeat the story to our patron?"
"To what end? He has received dozens of warnings! Still, I will tell him."
I obtained little sleep that night; spending the hours tossing restlessly, turning from side to side, wondering what the danger was which had induced L'Estang to give this indirect but ominous warning. As soon as thehousehold began to stir, I rose and dressed, eager to seek an interview with Coligny.
He was already dressed and busy with Des Pruneaux, but he spoke to me graciously and with the kindly interest that he ever showed.
"You must not keep me long, Le Blanc," he said, laying a hand on my shoulder in his fatherly manner.
"My lord," I replied, "you shall have my story in the fewest possible words. I think it is of the greatest importance, but in any case I am bound to tell you! When we were in Rochelle, I did a simple service for one of our opponents."
"A good deed ever brings forth good fruit, my boy."
"It did in this instance, my lord. The man, who is in the pay of Monseigneur, has since proved a faithful friend in connexion with my private affairs. I owe him my life. He is, I believe deep in the secrets of his party, but these he has never revealed, and I have never asked him."
"Quite right," observed the Admiral.
"Since the death of Queen Joan, my sister has lived in Paris with the Countess Guichy. Last night this strange friend of mine advised me with the utmost earnestness to have her conveyed to Rochelle. He gave me no reason, but from his manner I am sure he fears something terrible is about to happen. 'Invent what excuse you like,' said he, 'but to-morrow morning send Jacques'—that is my servant—'to Rochelle in charge of your sister, and let him make no delay on the road.' There must be some grave reason for his advice, my lord."
"You have no doubt of this man's friendship?"
"Not a shadow of doubt; he has proved it to the hilt."
"Then your sister must leave Paris promptly, and she shall carry a letter from me to the commandant. That will furnish an excuse for her hurried departure. I will write it immediately."
"But, my lord," I said hesitatingly, for it ever required some courage to hint that he should take measures for his personal safety, "it is of the possible peril to yourself I am thinking."
"I do not believe there is any danger," he replied; "but I am in the hands of God, Le Blanc. If He, in His wisdom, and for His own good purpose, wills that I should die at my post, I am content. Now, Des Pruneaux shall write the letter, and after breakfast you shall take it to your sister."
I went out, and writing a note to Jeanne, bidding her get ready for an early start, sent it off by Jacques.
"I wonder," said Felix, "if your friend's warning has anything to do with the king's fresh move. Last night twelve hundred of the guards marched into Paris, and are quartered near the Louvre."
"They may be wanted to overawe Guise and Anjou," I suggested. "If so, it was a wise step to take."
"Yes, if so!" he agreed, but the tone of his voice did not imply much confidence in my suggestion.
As soon as Jacques returned, I told him to prepare for a journey to Rochelle, dwelling strongly upon the necessity for the greatest expedition.
"There is some danger threatening you," exclaimed the trusty fellow.
"No more than there was yesterday, Jacques; but I am uneasy about my sister, and would rather she were behind the walls of La Rochelle."
"I do not like leaving you, monsieur."
"You must, Jacques; there is no one else to whom I would care to entrust my sister. But not a word to her of the real reason! She must imagine she is doing us a service or she will not stir; so we are sending her with a letter from the Admiral to the commandant at Rochelle."
When Felix and I went to the house, we were received by the countess, who was not at all pleased by the news of Jeanne's approaching departure. "What new conspiracy is this," she asked, "that you need a young girl for an ally? Have you not men enough to do your work?"
"Ah," laughed Felix playfully, "you wish to discover our secrets. It is quite useless, my lady; we are proof against all your wiles; but on her return, Mademoiselle Jeanne shall tell you herself; you won't be able to do any mischief then!"
"You are a saucy boy!" exclaimed the countess, pinching his ear. "And pray, which of you is to be Jeanne's escort?"
"I am sending my servant," I answered. "He is very trustworthy, and will guard her with his own life."
"Do you intend your sister to walk to Rochelle?" she asked, the humorous twinkle coming back to her eyes.
"I am going to procure a carriage."
"You will do nothing of the kind!" she declaredemphatically. "I am not supposed to be acquainted with your stupid plots, and your sister shall go to Rochelle in my carriage, drawn by my horses, and driven by my coachman. The poor beasts will probably die of the plague in that gloomy hole, but they must take their chance. Now, do not speak! I am not to be lectured by two giddy boys. And do not kiss me, Felix! What I am doing is for Jeanne. Perhaps when they cut off my head for joining in your horrid conspiracy you will be sorry. Now, have the horses put into the carriage, while I see Jeanne."
"She is a generous soul!" exclaimed Felix, as we left the room. "She has many strange whims, but no one could be more loyal to a friend, and she has grown to love Jeanne very dearly."
"She is exceedingly kind," I said, "and the more so since we have no claims on her generosity."
By the time Jacques arrived everything was ready, and we had only to bid my sister good-bye. She bore up bravely, but the parting was a painful one, for in our hearts both Felix and I had an uneasy feeling that we were saying farewell to her for ever. Of this, fortunately, she had no suspicion, and she promised the countess to return directly the business with the commandant was finished.
"Remember," I whispered to Jacques, as the coachman gathered up the reins, "there must be no delay. Reach Rochelle as quickly as possible, and keep your mistress there until I send to you. The commandant, who will understand the real purpose of the journey, will help you."
Jacques drew up beside the carriage; Jeanne, leaning out, fluttered her dainty handkerchief; we waved our hands in response, and she was gone.
"Jeanne is a brave girl and a good girl," said the countess. "I wish she were my daughter. And now, you two villains, who have deprived an old woman of her only pleasure in life, leave me. I am going to my room, where I can cry comfortably. I am not so young that tears will spoil my eyes."
On our way back to theHôtel Colignywe encountered Monseigneur, with a body of his gentlemen, riding through the city. Numerous persons were in the streets, and as he passed by, bowing and smiling graciously, they greeted him with cheers.
"Anjou has some purpose in doing that," remarked Felix; but I made no answer, being occupied in watching L'Estang, who rode in the very rear of the cavalcade. He had caught sight of me, and while still looking straight before him he raised his hand, pointing significantly to the west. I nodded my head, and with a smile of satisfaction he rode on.
"Did you notice that?" I asked.
"Yes," replied Felix, "but without understanding."
"The meaning was plain enough. He was asking if Jeanne had gone, and I answered 'Yes.'"
"He takes a great interest in your sister," said Felix a trifle discontentedly.
"Because she is my sister," I replied. "Listen, the worthy citizens are cheering for Guise now."
"I suppose he is parading the streets as well. What a pack of fools these Parisians are!"
"If they cheered for Coligny," I laughed, "you would credit them with all the wisdom under the sun. So much depends on one's point of view!"
"Edmond! Felix! Why do you look so astonished? Do you fancy I am a spirit? Feel my hand; that is substantial enough, is it not?" and Roger Braund laughed heartily as he crossed the lobby of the Admiral's house toward us.
"You in Paris!" I exclaimed, after we had exchanged greetings, "when did you arrive? How long have you been here?"
"An hour," he replied cheerfully. "Is your sister well, Edmond?"
"Quite well, thank you. She is on the way to Rochelle; but come to our room, where we can talk more privately."
He accompanied us to our room, and I told him the story as it has been set down here.
"You did right," said he thoughtfully! "Paris just now is no place for her. But this journey to Rochelle is a hazardous venture with only Jacques to protect her!"
"Jacques is a man of courage and discretion!" exclaimed Felix, with rather more heat than was necessary.
"Jacques is a brave fellow," agreed Roger, "but he is only one man. Edmond, with your leave, I will set out after the travellers, and assist Jacques in guarding your sister."
"You will have but a short stay in Paris," remarked Felix.
"I shall return quickly to offer my sword to your chief. From Edmond's story, I fancy he will have need of all his friends. I left my horse at an inn; it is a fine beast, and is thoroughly rested now. I will start immediately. No, I am not hungry; I have made a substantial meal. I shall come straight here on my return. Good-bye to you both. Directly I have placed Mademoiselle Jeanne in safety you will see me again?"
We had scarcely time to answer before he had gone, and from the window I saw him speeding along the street as if he feared the loss of a single second would overthrow all his plans.
In the evening of that same day, the Admiral in passing to his room inquired kindly if I had executed his commission, and appeared pleased to learn that my sister had already started on her journey.
"I do not think it was necessary," he remarked, "but at least no harm can come from it, and you will feel easier in your mind. Good-night, gentlemen; our plans are progressing favourably, and I hope soon to have good news for you all."
I went to bed early that night, for Felix, unlike his usual bright self, was very gloomy and morose. I fancy he was not well pleased with the coming of Roger Braund, and still less so with his ready offer to escort Jeanne to Rochelle.
"What is the fellow doing here at all?" he asked. "Why can he not stay in his own country?"
I ventured to suggest that no one put the question at Jarnac, or at Montcontour, and that we of the Religion at least owed a great debt of gratitude to Roger and his brave comrades. Felix seemed rather to resent this remark, so I said no more, trusting that by anotherday he would have recovered his good humour and pleasant manners.
I remember well how that memorable day began. It was Friday, August 22, and as I wakened from a long sleep the cheery rays of the morning sun flooded the room. How little any of us in theHôtel Colignydreamed of what was to happen before that same sun sank to rest!
After breakfast, Des Pruneaux drew me on one side. "The Admiral proceeds to the Louvre this morning," he said. "De Guerchy and I attend him; you and Bellièvre will walk a little distance behind us. Be more vigilant even than usual, for there are strange rumours abroad."
Each trifling incident comes back to me now as vividly as if it happened yesterday. We went to the Louvre, waited while our chief transacted his business, and started on the journey home. Presently we met Charles, who greeted the Admiral affectionately, and the two walked together in the direction of the tennis-court. Des Pruneaux and De Guerchy joined the king's attendants; Felix and I followed a few paces in the rear.
At the court Charles and the Duke of Guise made up a match against our patron's son-in-law, Teligny, and a gentleman whose name I did not know. The Admiral stood watching the game for some time, but between ten and eleven o'clock he bade the king adieu and once more started for home. He walked between Des Pruneaux and De Guerchy, talking cheerfully about the game, and praising the skill of the king,for Charles was certainly an accomplished player, superior in my opinion even to Guise.
"Yes," exclaimed Felix, to whom I passed some such remark, and who had not altogether thrown off his bitterness of the previous day, "if he were as good a ruler as tennis-player France might have some chance of happiness."
"Well, he is making good progress even in that!" I replied cheerfully.
I have said that thehôtelwas in the Rue de l'Arbre Sec, at the corner of the Rue de Bethisy, and we were passing along the Rue des Fossés de St. Germain, when a man approached the Admiral with what looked like a petition. We quickened our pace, but the citizen was an inoffensive person, and the Admiral, taking the paper, began to read, walking on slowly the while.
He turned the corner in front of us, and was hidden for an instant from our view, when we heard a loud report.
"Treachery!" cried my comrade, drawing his sword, and with a rush we sped round the corner. My heart leaped into my mouth as I realized what had happened. There was our noble chief, the truest, bravest, most chivalrous man in France, supported in De Guerchy's arms.
Des Pruneaux, who was stanching the blood with a handkerchief, pointed to the latticed windows of theHôtel de Retzon our right, and, understanding it was from there the assassin had fired, we ran across, my comrade's cries of "For the Admiral!" bringing outa number of Huguenot gentlemen who lodged in the neighbourhood.
"This way!" I cried excitedly, "the assassin is in this house!" and the next minute, having burst open the doors, we were swarming into the building. Save for a deaf old woman and a horse-boy the place was empty, and a howl of rage rose from the searchers.
Nothing could be got from the old woman, but Felix, clutching the boy by the throat, demanded sternly "Where is the assassin? Speak, or I will kill you!"
"The man who was upstairs has got away through the cloisters, monsieur. I do not know him. I was only told to bring a swift horse from my master's stables."
"Who is your master?"
"The Duke of Guise, monsieur," and at that another howl of execration went up, several men shouting "Guise is the murderer! Kill the Duke of Guise!"
"Whose house is this?" I asked.
The boy could not answer, but a voice cried out "Canon Vallemur's! He used to be the Duke's tutor! Guise is the assassin!"
"Yes, yes! Let us kill Guise!"
"Here is the weapon," cried one of the searchers, bringing forward an arquebus which he had found in the window; "it has Monseigneur's arms stamped on it; it must belong to one of his body-guard. Guise and Anjou are the murderers!"
"Come," exclaimed Felix, "we can do nothing here; the fellow is out of the city by now!"
An excited crowd had gathered in front of theHôtelColigny, but, pushing the people roughly aside, we made our way into the courtyard.
"Is he dead?" asked Felix of one of our comrades.
"No; one bullet carried off the first finger of his right hand; the other wounded him seriously in the left arm. Paré"—the king's own surgeon—"is attending him. They say Charles is furious, but I do not know; all his family are accomplished actors. Were you there? Did you see it done? Tell us all about it," and they gathered round as Felix described the incident and the search in the empty house.
"Guise is the real murderer!" exclaimed one angrily.
"Or Anjou!"
"Or both!"
"If Charles doesn't punish them, we won't rest till we have made an end of him and his whole stock!"
"'Tis likely he is as guilty as the rest!"
"And Coligny trusts him implicitly!"
"The Admiral is too trustful and kind-hearted! Did you hear what he said to Des Pruneaux? 'I forgive freely and with all my heart both him that struck me and those who incited him to do it.' If I catch the fellow, I will tear him limb from limb!"
"Let us capture Guise and Anjou," cried Felix, "and if the Admiral dies hang them both."
"Bravo, Bellièvre! There's sense in that! To arms, my friends! We will have vengeance!" and a number of the most hot-headed were rushing out wildly when a cry arose of "Navarre! Navarre!" and, going to the street, we saw Henry of Navarreaccompanied by five or six hundred Huguenot gentlemen.
The gallant prince was angry and excited. "What means this foul outrage?" he cried, leaping from his horse. "Have they slain our noble leader?"
"No, no, sire; he has been shot at and wounded, but he is not dead. Way there for Navarre! We want justice, sire!"
"By my faith, gentlemen," exclaimed the fiery Henry, as he mounted the stairs, "you shall have it, or Navarre shall lose its monarch."
Save for the sick-room, where our illustrious chief lay, the whole house was crowded with excited men. From time to time messengers arrived bringing reports from the city, and from their accounts it really looked as if Charles was bent on discovering and punishing the murderer. The civic guards were mustered; the sentries at the gates doubled; and no one was permitted to go armed into the streets.
"A blind!" cried some hotly. "There is no need to hunt for the murderer; Charles can find him at his own table!"
"Why do we stay here?" cried Felix; "let us march to the palace and demand justice!"
"Let us first consult Navarre," said another; "he must be our leader now," and the majority agreed with this suggestion.
About two oclock a man came running into the courtyard crying "The king! The king!" and shortly afterwards Charles appeared, followed by his mother and Anjou. And here I must say that few of us, afterlooking at his gloomy face, believed that he had any share in the dastardly plot against our beloved chief. We let him pass in silence, but when Anjou came, there were many muttered threats of vengeance, and more than one loud cry of "Assassin!"
"Monseigneur comes to gloat over his victim!" exclaimed one man, and so intense was our anger that but for the king's presence I doubt if Monseigneur would have left the house alive.
When the royal party had ended their visit, Henry, Condé, and other leading members of our party held a meeting in one of the lower rooms. Felix and I remained on duty in the ante-chamber where De Guerchy came to fetch us.
"The King of Navarre wishes to learn the truth about the discoveries in Vallemur's house," he said.
The room was very crowded, and the nobles were discussing the situation with fierce excitement.
"'Tis no time for playing like children," De Pilles was saying, "I tell you we are all doomed; this is but the first stroke. Let us strike back, and strike hard."
"I would suggest," said his neighbour, "that we get Coligny safe to Rochelle, and then gather all our forces."
"We cannot move the Admiral; Paré will not answer for his life if he is moved."
"My lords," said Teligny, "I do not think it is necessary. I am convinced that the king has no hand in this vile outrage, and that if we trust him he will bring the murderer to justice."
"What!" sneered De Pilles, "execute his own brother! Or even the Duke of Guise! You have more faith in Charles than I have!"
"Where are those gentlemen who helped to search the house?" asked Henry. "Let them stand forward. Ah, my friend," catching sight of me, "I have not forgotten your face. Now let us hear the story, and why the Duke of Guise is suspected in the matter."
Thereupon I related all that had occurred, and at the conclusion Henry observed gravely, "Truly there is something here for the Duke to explain!"
"Explain, sire!" cried De Pilles scornfully, "how can he explain? Who here doubts the Duke's guilt? Let us kill him and Anjou, I say, or they will kill us. Put no trust in Charles. They will drag him into the plot."
"What would you have us do?" asked Henry; "overthrow the throne?"
"Ay," answered De Pilles stoutly, "I would clear the kingdom of the whole family."
I cannot say what further arguments were used, as De Guerchy made a sign for us to withdraw; but presently the meeting broke up, and the cavaliers, mounting their horses, rode away, singing psalms, and vowing to obtain justice.
"De Pilles was right!" exclaimed Felix, as we returned to the ante-chamber; "this means war to the knife, and the sooner our leaders give the word the better. I am thankful that your sister has left Paris."
"We owe that to L'Estang I wonder if he hadany actual information of what was about to happen? I have a mind to endeavour to find him this evening; he will probably be at the Louvre."
"We will go together," said Felix, and accordingly about seven o'clock, there being nothing for us to do, we set out.
The city was in a state of intense excitement, the streets were thronged, and groups of men were discussing the attempt on the Admiral's life, and praising those who had directed the plot.
"The king is too weak," they said, "this Coligny twines him round his finger. He should listen to Monseigneur and the Duke of Guise; they would make an end of these Huguenots."
Several times I had to grasp Felix by the arms, and whisper to him to control himself, since a brawl in the streets could end only in his death and mine. A knowledge of fence is of little service against a mob of ruffians armed with clubs and pikes.
Approaching the Marais we heard a tremendous hubbub, and running forward quickly beheld a number of Huguenot gentlemen gathered outside theHôtel de Guise,waving their swords defiantly and threatening to have justice done upon the Duke. De Pilles was at their head, and I expected every moment to see him give the signal for an attack on the building. Had he done so, he would have been instantly obeyed, and perhaps we should not have had cause to mourn the horrors of the impending tragedy.
Instead of doing so, however, he suddenly exclaimed, "To the palace! We will demand justice from theking; he cannot deny us!" and the Huguenots, suspicious, alarmed and rapidly losing their heads, took up the cry.
"To the palace!" they shouted; "let us see if Charles will give us justice!"
Felix, as passionate and headstrong as any of them, exclaimed, "Come along, Edmond; we shall count two more. Let us discover if there is any honour in the man."
Not believing it could effect any good, I had no wish to be drawn into the flighty venture, but as my comrade was resolute in courting danger I was forced to accompany him.
The king was at supper when, flourishing our swords and demanding justice, we burst into the palace. Charles behaved coolly enough, but Anjou, who sat next to him, changed colour and trembled, while beads of sweat stood upon his forehead.
"We demand justice, sire!" cried De Pilles, who cared no more for a monarch than for a peasant. "If the king refuses it we will take the matter into our own hands," and he looked at Anjou, who averted his head.
"You will obtain justice, gentlemen," answered Charles. "My word is pledged, and I will not break it. I have assured my friend, the noble Coligny, that the villain who shot him shall be sought out and punished. I will not spare the guilty parties whoever they are!"
At that we gave him a round of cheers, and marched out, De Pilles and his followers returning straight tothe city. L'Estang was not present, but seeing one of Anjou's guards I asked if he could find my friend for me, which he did.
"The palace is not a safe place for you to-night," said L'Estang as he came to meet me.
"As safe as any part of the city," I answered. "It seems I did well in taking your advice and sending my sister away. You have heard of this morning's dastardly crime?"
"All Paris has heard of it," said he; "but pardon me if I say that to-night's folly will not make the king's task any the easier."
"Surely you do not expect us to see our leader murdered without protest!" exclaimed Felix.
"Not at all; but there is such a thing as being over hasty. It would have paid better to show, or to appear to show, some trust in the king."
"Pshaw!" cried my comrade, "for all we know Charles himself is responsible for the deed!"
"At all events," I said, "the plot must have been known beforehand in the palace!"
"If you think that, because I warned you to remove your sister from Paris, you are mistaken. Your surprise this morning was not greater than my own. I believe that scarcely any one inside the palace knew of what was going on."
"But you yourself expected trouble of some kind!"
"True; and now I am sure of it. How can it be avoided? Each side is suspicious of the other: you are angry, and justly angry, at the assault on your chief, and you threaten vengeance even on the king.I believe he wishes to be your friend, and you are driving him into the arms of your enemies. Do you fancy he will care to trust himself in your hands after to-night's mad freak? But the hour grows late, and the streets are not safe; I will walk a short distance with you."
"The citizens are still abroad!" I remarked after a time. "Listen! they are cheering for Guise!"
"And there lies the trouble," he said. "But, monsieur, I have a private word for you. Etienne Cordel is in Paris; he can read the signs as well as most men, and if there is a disturbance he will take advantage of it. You are doubly in danger—first as a Huguenot and a friend of Coligny's; next as the owner of Le Blanc. You will have to steer skilfully to avoid both dangers!"
"You speak as if a plot to murder the Huguenots were already afoot."
"I am aware of no plot at present," he said, "but after to-day's unlucky events one can be sure of nothing. Here is the corner of your street; I will bid you good-night, and once more I repeat my warning. Guard yourself, and sleep with your sword at your hand."
The morning of August 23 broke bright and clear, but I rose from my bed with a troubled and unquiet feeling. I had passed a restless night, dreaming that all Paris was ablaze, and that the streets of the city were running with blood, and I could not get rid of the thought that some terrible calamity was about to happen.
Directly it was light the house began to fill with Huguenot gentlemen, asking eagerly how it fared with their beloved chief. He was still extremely weak, but Paré spoke hopefully, declaring there was no cause for alarm, and that his illustrious patient required only rest and quietness.
"In a few days he will be able to leave Paris," said the famous surgeon, "and his recovery is certain. I have not the slightest anxiety about him."
This was cheering news, but as the day wore on strange and alarming rumours began to reach us from the city. Our spies reported that the streets were thronged with excited people, cheering for Guise and threatening the Huguenots with death.
"There is some one behind all this," said Felix, "some one working in secret to stir up the passions of the citizens. Unless the king interferes there will be a terrible outbreak shortly."
About noon—we had not long risen from dinner—a man arrived bearing news that, to our heated imaginations, was startling indeed. A great meeting was taking place at theHôtel de Guise, where our bitterest enemies had assembled. The spy brought a list of the names, and as he recounted them one by one our feeling of uneasiness deepened.
"'Tis a plot against us," said one, "with Guise at the head, and Anjou secretly favouring it."
"Are we to wait to be killed like sheep?" demanded Felix. "Have we not swords of our own? Shall we keep them in their scabbards? Out upon us for timid hares! We deserve to die, if we have not the courage to strike a blow in our own defence!"
"What can we do?" asked Carnaton, who had just come from the sick-room. "The Admiral is helpless, and Henry of Navarre is being closely watched. We have no leaders, and it would be folly for us to break the peace."
"Let us wait," laughed Felix mockingly, "till this dog of a Guise has murdered us all! Then, perhaps, it will be time to strike."
"The king has pledged his word to protect us," said La Bonne; "let us ask him to send a guard for our chief."
"A guard for Coligny!" cried Felix in a bitter tone; "a guard for Coligny, and a thousand Huguenotgentlemen in Paris! Let us summon our comrades and guard our chief with our own lives!"
We spoke angrily, and many sharp words passed between us, the more fiery of the speakers upholding Felix, the cooler and wiser ones supporting La Bonne, and finally it was agreed to despatch a messenger to the king.
"When the troops arrive," said Felix, "we will give them our weapons to take care of for us!"
I did not hold altogether with my hot-headed comrade, but when in the course of an hour or two the king's soldiers marched into the street I began to think we had committed a serious blunder. There were fifty of them, and at their head marched Cosseins, the Admiral's determined enemy.
"Faith!" exclaimed Felix, as the soldiers posted themselves in two houses close at hand, "I have heard that Charles loves a practical joke, but this must be one of the grimmest that even he has played!"
"He could have bettered it," said Yolet, our beloved chief's trusty esquire, "only by sending Guise himself!"
Presently a man, threading his way through the crowd in front of the courtyard, ran up to Carnaton, and whispered something in his ear.
"More bad news?" said I, noticing his look of surprise.
"I fear it is not good at any rate," he replied slowly. "Charles has sent for Guise to the Louvre."
"Guise at the Louvre!" cried Felix, "and westay here with our arms folded! Now this is downright madness!"
"It may be," suggested La Bonne mildly, "that the king wishes to give him orders not to break the peace."
"It seems to me," said Felix, "that we might employ our time better than in inventing excuses for our enemies. This visit to the Louvre means that Charles has gone over to the side of Anjou and Guise."
"It may be so," agreed Carnaton, "but we have no proof."
"Proof!" cried my comrade with a mocking laugh, "it will be sufficient proof when one of Anjou's troopers runs a sword through your heart!"
Carnaton was about to reply when he was summoned to attend the Admiral, and we settled down to wait doggedly for the next piece of information. It was not long in coming. A messenger despatched by La Bonne returned a few minutes before three o'clock. His face was pale, and he had a frightened look which was far from reassuring.
"Well?" exclaimed La Bonne, "what news?" "Ill news, monsieur," replied the man. "Guise has left the Louvre and is in the city. The streets are crowded and the citizens are wild with excitement. He is stirring them up against us, and they are cheering him, and crying that the Huguenots ought not to live."
We gazed at each other blankly; this certainly did not appear as if Charles had given him any peaceful commands. Nor was our alarm lessened when an hour later another spy reported that Anjou and Angoulême were following Guise's example, and doing their best to rouse the passions of the people.
"They are telling the citizens," our messenger said, "that a plot to take the king's life, and to slay Monseigneur has been discovered, and the citizens are crying for vengeance on the Huguenots."
"Guise and Anjou will see to it that they get their vengeance," I remarked, for it was no longer possible to doubt that our enemies had determined on our destruction. We had put our trust in Charles; if he deserted us it was all over.
"At least," said La Bonne, "if we have to die, we will die like men."
"With our swords in our hands, and not in their scabbards!" exclaimed Felix, and a fierce growl of approval greeted his words.
As the day wore to a close it became more and more plain that, as my comrade had declared, we were like hunted animals caught in a trap. We might sell our lives dearly, but we could not hope to fight successfully against the royal troops and a city in arms.
Only one chance of escape presented itself. By banding together and making a determined rush we might force a passage through the streets, and seek safety in flight; but to do this we must abandon our illustrious chief, whose weakness prevented him from being moved. I hope it is needless to add that every Huguenot gentleman in Paris would have lost his life fifty times over rather than have agreed to such a base proceeding.
About seven o'clock in the evening many of Navarre's gentlemen left the house, and some of us accompanied them to the end of the street. La Bonne having received favourable news from the palace, our alarm, in consequence, had begun to subside, though we still remained a trifle anxious.
We were returning in a body to thehôtel, Felix and I being the last of the company, when a man slipped a paper into my hand and instantly disappeared.
"Another warning from your strange friend, I suppose," said Felix.
I opened the paper and read hurriedly: "Bring Monsieur Bellièvre with you shortly after midnight, and meet me at the little gate of the Louvre where I saw you before. Wrap yourselves up closely, and attract as little attention as possible. Do not fail to come, as I have important news.—D'ANGELY."
"Are you sure this is not a second invitation from the lawyer?" my comrade asked.
"It appears to be L'Estang's handwriting."
"So did the other note."
"True, but Etienne Cordel would not bait a trap for you. He bears you no grudge, and besides you would only be in his way!"
"Yes," said my comrade, "there is something in that. Will you go?"
"Why not? We may learn something that will be useful to our chief. L'Estang wishes me well, and in order to save my life he may be tempted to disclose what he knows of Guise's conspiracy; for I feel sure there is one."
"If it will serve the Admiral," said Felix hesitatingly.
"It may. I cannot tell, but it is worth running a little risk to discover."
"He has chosen an odd time and an odd place."
"He cannot meet us in broad day, and a thousand causes may prevent him from coming to this quarter. You must remember he is Anjou's servant, and he will not wish to draw suspicion upon himself."
"Very well," said my comrade, "we will go. Carnaton and La Bonne are on duty to-night."
As the evening closed in the streets began to empty; our comrades went off to their lodgings, and by nine o'clock there were few of us left in thehôtel. Teligny and De Guerchy were in the sick-room, and with them Paré, the surgeon, and the Admiral's chaplain, Pastor Merlin; Carnaton and La Bonne dozed in the ante-chamber, while Yolet was posting the five Switzers who formed part of Navarre's bodyguard.
"It seems as if we shall have a quiet night, Yolet," I remarked.
"The danger has blown over," he answered. "Charles was frightened into believing we intended to murder him, but the King of Navarre has opened his eyes. The real plotters will have an unwelcome surprise in a day or two. I heard De Guerchy telling the Admiral."
"Oh," said I, quite relieved by this information, "if the king keeps firm, we have nothing to fear."
"Trusting to the king," remarked my comrade,who always spoke of Charles as a puppet in the hands of his mother and brother, "is trusting to a broken reed. For my part I hope the instant our chief is strong enough to travel he will hasten to Rochelle. I have more faith in a keen blade than in a king's promise," and from Yolet's face one would have judged he was of the same opinion.
About a quarter before midnight he came with us to open the front gate, and to fasten it after our departure. We had told him something of our errand, and he advised us to go to work very warily, saying, "Do not forget that a dog isn't dead because he has ceased barking!"
We slipped into the street and he fastened the gate quietly. It was fairly dark now, and being closely muffled in our mantles there was little chance of our being recognized. Cossein's soldiers were apparently asleep; no lights gleamed anywhere; the Rue des Fossés de St. Germain was empty.
On approaching nearer the Louvre, however, we observed a body of citizens, armed, and marching with some sort of military discipline. We had barely time to conceal ourselves in a doorway before they came by, so close to us that we could almost count their numbers.
"What does that mean?" asked my comrade when at last we ventured out again. "Where are those fellows going? Edmond, I don't like the look of that; it is suspicious."
"On the contrary, it has helped to remove my suspicion," I answered. "They are under the provost'sorders, and he would not dare to muster them except by the king's instructions."
"From which you think——?"
"That Charles is taking measures in our favour on his own account."
"I hope you will prove a true prophet, though I do not feel very sanguine."
The delay caused us to be a trifle late in keeping our appointment, and when we reached the place of meeting no one was to be seen. For half an hour we walked softly to and fro, keeping in the shadow of the wall, watching keenly, and listening for the sound of a footstep.
It was strange that L'Estang should not be there, and I had a vague, uneasy feeling that it was impossible to banish. Felix, too, became fidgety, and at last said in a whisper, "Edmond, let us return; there is something wrong, I am sure of it!"
"Nonsense," I replied, more to keep up my own spirits than for any other reason; "a hundred things may have kept the man from coming. Besides, what is there to fear?"
"I don't know," he admitted, "but I am certain there is mischief afoot. It may be the darkness and the silence. Listen!" and he caught me by the arm, "do you hear that? Horses, Edmond, and horsemen! Where are they?"
Listening intently I recognized the sounds. Soldiers were gathering inside the grounds. Where could they be going at this time? Once more I slipped back to the little gate, calling softly "D'Angely!" but there was noresponse. The adventurer for once had failed me. I returned to my comrade, who was now trembling with excitement.
"There is some terrible business on hand!" said he. "What can it mean?"
"Let us wait here; we may discover the secret."
"Yes," he answered bitterly, "when it is too late! We have all been blind fools, Edmond, from Navarre downwards. Ah, they are coming out—horse and foot."
It was too dark for us to distinguish them closely, but we could make out a group of officers riding a little ahead, a number of troopers, and two or three score foot-soldiers. They proceeded at a walking pace, making scarcely any sound.
"Let us follow," whispered Felix, and he was in such a restless state that, although unwilling to leave without having met L'Estang, I offered no objection.
Silently, and keeping well in the shadow of the houses, we stole after them, creeping like unquiet spirits through the streets of the sleeping city. At first we imagined they were going to theHôtel de Guise, and it was only on entering the Rue des Fossés de St. Germain that the dreadful truth flashed across our minds.
"They are going to murder the Admiral!" whispered my comrade with a groan. "Edmond, can we do nothing? Is there no way of warning La Bonne?"
"I fear not, we cannot get past the troops."
Even had that been possible it would have proved of but little service. The leaders quickened their pace; the whole body swept round the corner; they were in front of the building; only by the roof could any one escape;and the Admiral, alas! could not walk even across his chamber.
The blood ran cold in my veins; it seemed as if my heart had ceased to beat. Death was calling for my beloved chief, and I was powerless to keep the grisly visitor at bay. I felt Felix fumbling at his sword, and, gripping him firmly by the wrist, whispered, "Keep still! What can you do?"
"Die with him!" he answered fiercely.
"Nonsense!" I said coldly, for I had no wish to see him butchered uselessly before my eyes, "you cannot do even that! You will be slain before you have moved three yards. And I will not let you throw your life away. Live, my friend, live to avenge him!"
"Ah," he whispered, "that is well said, Edmond. Take your hand off me. I am calm enough now. Ah, they are knocking at the gate. Listen! 'In the king's name!' That is Guise's voice. Will they open, think you, Edmond?"
I had dragged him into a doorway, so that the troopers might not see us, but by this time there was little danger of detection; the noise had aroused the neighbourhood, and many citizens were already in the street.
"Yes," I said, "they will think it is a messenger from Charles. See!" for the dawn was breaking now, "there is Guise!"
"And Angoulême! And Cosseins! He has come to defend the Admiral! Let us go nearer, Edmond; they will not bother about us!"
Leaving the shelter of the doorway we mingled with the crowd, pressing close upon the heels of the troops.For several minutes we waited in breathless suspense; then the gate was opened; there was a wild rush; a cry of warning, stifled suddenly, rang out, and the troopers surged into the courtyard.
"That was La Bonne's voice," I said with a shudder, "he has learned the value of a king's promise."
Drawing our mantles up to our faces, we ran with the rest to the courtyard. Already the house was filled with soldiers, and several shrieks of agony told us that they were killing even the poor servants. We heard sterner shouts also, and hoped in our hearts that Carnaton, Yolet, and the few Switzers were making Guise's butchers pay dearly for their cruel treachery.
Guise and Angoulême had not entered the house; they were standing in the courtyard, beneath the window of the Admiral's room, awaiting the completion of the brutal work. We heard the crashing of timber, the cries of the Switzers, and then the tramp of feet up the stairway.
Suddenly the sound ceased, and Felix, turning to me, whispered, "They have broken into his room!"
An awful silence fell upon us in the courtyard as we stood there waiting for the end of the ghastly tragedy.
I always think of this incident in my life with a certain amount of shame; yet even now I cannot see in what I failed. My comrade and I would have spent our lives freely in the Admiral's defence, but what could we do? To fight our way through that mob of soldiers was impossible; we could not have taken two steps without being killed.
And yet—and yet—perhaps it would have been the nobler part to have died with our chief! I remember the look on Roger Braund's face when he heard the story—an expression that plainly asked, "How comes it then that you are still alive?"
If we did indeed act the coward's part the blame must rest on my shoulders; but for me Felix would have flung himself at the troopers and died with the old battle-cry "For the Admiral!" on his lips. It was I who, regarding such sacrifice as sheer folly, kept him back, though my blood boiled and my heart ached at what was going forward.
Presently a man wearing a corslet and waving a sword dyed red with blood appeared at the window of thesick-room. "It is done, my lord!" cried he lustily, "it is all over."
"Where is the body?" asked Guise brutally. "Monseigneur d'Angoulême will not believe unless he sees the body."
I was beside myself with grief and passion; yet even at that awful moment I gripped Felix tightly, bidding him control himself. "We must live, and not die!" I whispered.
Behm, and Cosseins, and a trooper in the dark green and white uniform of Anjou's guard approached the window, half dragging, half carrying a lifeless body. Raising it up, they flung it, as if it were the carcase of a sheep, into the courtyard, Behm exclaiming, "There is your enemy; he can do little harm now!"
"Yes, it is he," said Guise, spurning the dead hero with his foot, "I know him well. We have made a good beginning, my men; let us finish the business. Forward, in the king's name!"
Our cry of agony was drowned by the shouting of the troopers, and the next moment we were swept with the rest of the crowd from the courtyard into the narrow street. Suddenly, as if it were a signal, the great bell of St. Germain l'Auxerrois began to toll; other bells in the neighbourhood clanged and clashed, and mingling with their sounds were the fierce cries of "Kill the Huguenots! Kill! Kill!"
Felix turned to me with a look of horror. "It is a planned massacre!" he exclaimed, "our comrades will be murdered in their beds!"
We were borne along helplessly in the midst of thecrowd. In all the world, I think, no one could have ever beheld a more fearful spectacle. The men and women were mad with passion; their faces were as the faces of fiends; already some of their weapons were wet with blood. Each had a white band bound round the arm, and most of them wore a white cross in their caps.
Guise and Angoulême rode off with their troopers to carry on the terrible work elsewhere, and they bade the citizens slay and spare not. Crash went the doors of the houses where the Huguenots lived; shrieks of despair and cries of "Kill! Kill!" rose on the air; the glare of numerous torches lit up the hideous scene.
"Drag them out!"
"Death to the Huguenots!"
"Burn the houses!"
"Long live the Duke of Guise!"
"Throw them from the windows!"
"Kill the whole brood!"
Very soon the street was dotted with dead bodies. The unhappy people, roused from sleep by the yells of the mob, could offer but little resistance; they were slain in their beds, or escaped from the murderers only to be killed in the streets.
But every one did not die tamely. At one spot we saw about a dozen of our comrades, some only half dressed, standing shoulder to shoulder, with their backs to the wall and holding the mob at bay. At this sight Felix, wrapping his mantle round his left arm and drawing his sword, ran toward them, crying defiantly, "Coligny! Coligny! For the Admiral!"
It was a daring venture, and yet no more, dangerous than remaining in the crowd, where we must shortly have been discovered.
"Coligny! Coligny!" shouted the fighters by the wall, and the very sound of the name inspired them with fresh courage. One of the ruffians pushed at Felix with his pike, but he, with a vigorous stroke, clave him from the shoulder, and our comrades cheered again as the rascal fell.
"This way, Bellièvre," they cried; "this way, Le Blanc! Where is the Admiral?"
"Murdered!" answered Felix bitterly, "and thrown like a dog into the courtyard of his own house."
His words sent a thrill of horror through the little band. Coligny murdered! Their noble chief done to death by a pack of human wolves! Their eyes flashed fire; they set their teeth hard, and one, a strong, sturdy fellow from Chatillon, crying "Vengeance for Coligny!" sprang at the howling mob. Three times his blade gleamed in the air, and each time it descended a man fell.
"Three for Coligny!" he cried grimly, springing back to his place.
It was a fearful conflict, chiefly because we had no hope. We could fight to the death, but there was no escape. The men with the pikes rushed at us repeatedly; we beat them off, and the heap of their slain grew steadily larger, but we had lost two of our number, and were worn with fatigue. And presently from the rear of the mob there arose a shout of "Anjou! Anjou!" as if Monseigneur himself or some of his troopers had arrived to complete our destruction.
"Let us defend the house!" exclaimed Felix, "we can kill more from the inside!" and the rest agreed.
The door of the house to which my comrade pointed had been smashed; the building itself contained no one but the dead. We worked our way along, keeping the mob at bay with our swords, until we were all in shelter; then they came with a terrific rush, but the foremost were wounded or slain, and their bodies blocked the entrance.
"Drag the furniture into the passage!" cried Felix; but we had not the time. Roused to desperation by their losses, the mob surged through the doorway, trampling upon their fallen comrades, screaming "Kill the Huguenots!" flinging themselves upon us with a fury we could not withstand.
Back we went to the foot of the stairs, where not more than two men could stand abreast; the passage was packed with a swaying, struggling mass that forced a way by its own weight. "Kill! Kill!" they screamed, and we answered with defiant shouts of "Coligny! Coligny! For the Admiral."
They gained the lowest stair, and then another; it was evident we could not hold out much longer, but the knowledge had no effect on our courage. As Felix said, we could die but once. On the landing at the top of the stairs were two rooms, but our numbers were not strong enough to garrison them both. There were only seven of us left, and not one unwounded.
"The end is close now," cried my comrade, "but we will die hard for the honour of the Admiral."