Now if the reader is curious to know why Monsieur de la Mole was not received by the King of Navarre, why Monsieur de Coconnas was not permitted to see Monsieur de Guise, and lastly, why instead of eating pheasants, partridges, and venison at the Louvre, both supped at the hotel of theBelle Étoileon an omelet, he must kindly accompany us to the old palace of kings, and follow the queen, Marguerite of Navarre, whom La Mole had lost from sight at the entrance of the grand gallery.
While Marguerite was descending the staircase, the duke, Henry de Guise, whom she had not seen since the night of her marriage, was in the King's closet. To this staircase which Marguerite was descending there was an outlet. To the closet in which Monsieur de Guise was there was a door, and this door and this outlet both led to a corridor, which corridor led to the apartments of the queen mother, Catharine de Médicis.
Catharine de Médicis was alone, seated near a table, with her elbow leaning on a prayer-book half open, and her head leaning on a hand still remarkably beautiful,—by reason of the cosmetics with which she was supplied by the Florentine Réné, who united the double duty of perfumer and poisoner to the queen mother.
The widow of Henry II. was clothed in mourning, which she had not thrown off since her husband's death. At this period she was about fifty-two or fifty-three years of age, and owing to her stoutness and fair complexion she preserved much of her early beauty.
Her rooms, like her dress, paraded her widowhood. Everything in them bore the impress of bereavement: hangings, walls, and furniture were all in mourning. Only above a kind of dais covering a throne, where at that moment lay sleeping the little greyhound presented to the queen mother by her son-in-law, Henry of Navarre, and bearing the mythological name of Phœbe, was a painted rainbow surrounded by that Greek motto which King François I. had given her: "Phôs pherei ê de kai a‘íthzên;" which may be translated:
"He brings light and serenity."
Suddenly, and at a moment when the queen mother appeared deeply plunged in some thought which brought a half-hesitating smile to her carmen-painted lips, a man opened the door, raised the tapestry, and showed his pale face, saying:
"Everything is going badly."
Catharine raised her head and recognized the Duc de Guise.
"Why do you say 'Everything is going badly'?" she replied. "What do you mean, Henry?"
"I mean that the King is more than ever taken with the accursed Huguenots; and if we await his leave to execute the great enterprise, we shall wait a very long time, and perhaps forever."
"Tell me what has happened," said Catharine, still preserving the tranquillity of countenance habitual to her, yet to which, when occasion served, she could give such different expressions.
"Why, just now, for the twentieth time, I asked his Majesty whether he would still permit all those bravadoes which the gentlemen of the reformed religion indulge in, since their admiral was wounded."
"And what did my son reply?" asked Catharine.
"He replied, 'Monsieur le Duc, you must necessarily be suspected by the people as the author of the attempted assassination of my second father, the admiral; defend yourself from the imputation as best you may. As to me, I will defend myself properly, if I am insulted;' and then he turned away to feed his dogs."
"And you made no attempt to retain him?"
"Certainly I did; but he replied to me, in that tone which you so well know, and looking at me with the gaze peculiar to him, 'Monsieur le Duc, my dogs are hungry; and they are not men, whom I can keep waiting.' Whereupon I came straight to you."
"And you have done right," said the queen mother.
"But what is now to be done?"
"Try a last effort."
"And who will try it?"
"I will! Is the King alone?"
"No; M. de Tavannes is with him."
"Await me here; or, rather, follow me at a distance."
Catharine instantly rose and went to the chamber, where on Turkey carpets and velvet cushions were the King's favorite greyhounds. On perches ranged along the wall were two or three valuable falcons and a small shrike, with which Charles IX. amused himself in bringing down the little birds in the garden of the Louvre, and that of the Tuileries, which they had just begun building.
On her way the queen mother put on a pale and anguished expression, while down her cheeks rolled a last or rather a first tear.
She noiselessly approached Charles IX. as he was giving his dogs fragments of cakes cut into equal portions.
"My son," said the queen, with a trembling in her voice so cleverly affected that the King started.
"What is it, madame?" said Charles, turning round suddenly.
"My son," replied Catharine, "I would ask your leave to retire to one of your châteaux, no matter which, so that it be as distant as possible from Paris."
"And wherefore, madame?" inquired Charles IX., fixing on his mother that glassy eye which, on certain occasions, became so penetrating.
"Because every day I receive new insults from persons of the new faith; because to-day I hear that you have been threatened by the Protestants even in your own Louvre, and I do not desire to be present at such spectacles."
"But then, madame," replied Charles IX., with an expression full of conviction, "an attempt has been made to kill their admiral. An infamous murderer has already assassinated the brave M. de Mouy.Mort de ma vie, mother, there must be justice in a kingdom!"
"Oh, be easy on that head, my son," said Catharine; "they will not fail justice; for if you should refuse it, they will still have it in their own way: on M. de Guise to-day, on me to-morrow, and yourself later."
"Oh, madame!" said Charles, allowing a first accent of doubt to show in his voice, "do you think so?"
"Oh, my son," replied Catharine, giving way entirely to the violence of her thoughts, "do you not see that it is no longer a question of François de Guise's death or the admiral's, of the Protestant religion or the Catholic religion, but simply of the substitution of Antoine de Bourbon's son for the son of Henry the Second?"
"Come, come, mother, you are falling again into your usual exaggeration," said the King.
"What, then, have you in mind, my son?"
"To wait, mother,—to wait. All human wisdom is in this single word. The greatest, the strongest, the most skilful is he who knows how to wait."
"You may wait, then; I will not."
Catharine made a courtesy, and stepping towards the door, was about to return to her apartment.
Charles IX. stopped her.
"Well, then, really, what is best to be done, mother?" he asked, "for above all I am just, and I would have every one satisfied with me."
Catharine turned toward him.
"Come, count," she said to Tavannes, who was caressing the King's shrike, "tell the King your opinion as to what should be done."
"Will your Majesty permit me?" inquired the count.
"Speak, Tavannes!—speak."
"What does your Majesty do when, in the chase, the wounded boar turns on you?"
"By Heaven! monsieur, I wait for him, with firm foot," replied Charles, "and stab him in the throat with my boar-spear."
"Simply that he may not hurt you," remarked Catharine.
"And to amuse myself," said the King, with a sigh which indicated courage easily aroused even to ferocity; "but I should not amuse myself killing my subjects; for, after all, the Huguenots are my subjects, as well as the Catholics."
"Then, sire," said Catharine, "your subjects, the Huguenots, will do like the wild boar who escapes the spear thrust into his throat: they will bring down the throne."
"Nonsense! Do you really think so, madame?" said Charles IX., with an air which denoted that he did not place great faith in his mother's predictions.
"But have you not seen M. de Mouy and his party to-day?"
"Yes; I have seen them, for I have just left them. But what does he ask for that is not just? He has requested that his father's murderer and the admiral's assassin be put to death. Did we not punish M. de Montgommery for the death of my father and your husband, although that death was a simple accident?"
"Very well, sire," said Catharine, piqued, "let us say no more. Your majesty is under the protection of that God who gives you strength, wisdom, and confidence. But I, a poor woman whom God abandons, no doubt on account of my sins, fear and yield."
And having said this, Catharine again courteseyed and left the room, making a sign to the Duc de Guise, who had at that moment entered, to remain in her place, and try a last effort.
Charles IX. followed his mother with his eye, but this time did not recall her. He then began to caress his dogs, whistling a hunting-air.
He suddenly paused.
"My mother," said he, "is a royal spirit, and has scruples! Really, now, it is a cool proposal, to kill off some dozens of Huguenots because they come to demand justice! Is it not their right?"
"Some dozens!" murmured the Duc de Guise.
"Ah! are you here, sir?" said the King, pretending to see him for the first time. "Yes, some dozens. A tolerable waste of life! Ah! if any one came to me and said; 'Sire, you shall be rid of all your enemies at once, and to-morrow there shall not remain one to reproach you with the death of the others,' why, then, I do not say"—
"Well, sire?"
"Tavannes," said the King, "you will tire Margot; put her back on her perch. It is no reason, because she bears the name of my sister, the Queen of Navarre, that every one should caress her."
Tavannes put the hawk on her perch, and amused himself by curling and uncurling a greyhound's ears.
"But, sire, if any one should say to your Majesty: 'Sire, your Majesty shall be delivered from all your enemies to-morrow'?"
"And by the intercession of what saint would this miracle be wrought?"
"Sire, to-day is the 24th of August, and therefore it would be by the interposition of Saint Bartholomew."
"A worthy saint," replied the King, "who allowed himself to be skinned alive!"
"So much the better; the more he suffered, the more he ought to have felt a desire for vengeance on his executioners."
"And will you, my cousin," said the King, "will you, with your pretty little gold-hilted sword, slay ten thousand Huguenots between now and to-morrow? Ha! ha! ha!mort de ma vie!you are very amusing, Monsieur de Guise!"
And the King burst into a loud laugh, but a laugh so forced that the room echoed with its sinister sound.
"Sire, one word—and one only," continued the duke, shuddering in spite of himself at the sound of that laugh, which had nothing human in it,—"one signal, and all is ready. I have the Swiss and eleven hundred gentlemen; I have the light horse and the citizens; your Majesty has your guards, your friends, the Catholic nobility. We are twenty to one."
"Well, then, cousin, since you are so strong, why the devil do you come to fill my ears with all this? Act without me—act"—
And the King turned again to his dogs.
Then the portière was raised, and Catharine reappeared.
"All goes well," she said to the duke; "urge him, and he will yield."
And the portière fell on Catharine, without Charles IX. seeing, or at least appearing to see her.
"But yet," continued De Guise, "I must know if, in acting as I desire, I shall act agreeably to your Majesty's views."
"Really, cousin Henry, you put the knife to my throat! But I shall live. By Heaven! am I not the king?"
"No, not yet, sire; but, if you will, you shall be so to-morrow."
"Ah—what!" continued Charles, "you would kill the King of Navarre, the Prince de Condé—in my Louvre—ah!"
Then he added, in a voice scarcely audible,—"Without the walls, I do not say"—
"Sire," cried the duke, "they are going out this evening to join in a revel with your brother, the Duc d'Alençon."
"Tavannes," said the King, with well-affected impatience, "do not you see that you are teasing the dog? Here, Actéon,—come!"
And Charles IX. went out without waiting to hear more, and Tavannes and the Duc de Guise were left almost as uncertain as before.
Meantime another scene was passing in Catharine's apartment. After she had given the Duc de Guise her counsel to remain firm, she returned to her rooms, where she found assembled the persons who were usually present when she went to bed.
Her face was now as full of joy as it had been downcast when she set out. With her most agreeable manner she dismissed her women one by one and her courtiers, and there remained only Madame Marguerite, who, seated on a coffer near the open window, was looking at the sky, absorbed in thought.
Two or three times, when she thus found herself alone with her daughter, the queen mother opened her mouth to speak, but each time a gloomy thought withheld the words ready to escape her lips.
Suddenly the portière was raised, and Henry of Navarre appeared.
The little greyhound, which was asleep on the throne, leaped up and bounded towards him.
"You here, my son!" said Catharine, starting. "Do you sup in the Louvre to-night?"
"No, madame," replied Henry, "we are going into the city to-night, with Messieurs d'Alençon and De Condé. I almost expected to find them here paying their court to you."
Catharine smiled.
"Go, gentlemen, go—men are so fortunate in being able to go about as they please! Are they not, my daughter?"
"Yes," replied Marguerite, "liberty is so glorious, so sweet a thing."
"Does that imply that I restrict yours, madame?" inquired Henry, bowing to his wife.
"No, sire; I do not complain for myself, but for women in general."
"Are you going to see the admiral, my son?" asked Catharine.
"Yes, possibly."
"Go, that will set a good example, and to-morrow you will give me news of him."
"Then, madame, I will go, since you approve of this step."
"Oh," said Catharine, "my approval is nothing—But who goes there? Send him away, send him away."
Henry started to go to the door to carry out Catharine's order; but at the same instant the portière was raised and Madame de Sauve showed her blond head.
"Madame," said she, "it is Réné, the perfumer, whom your majesty sent for."
Catharine cast a glance as quick as lightning at Henry of Navarre.
The young prince turned slightly red and then fearfully pale. Indeed, the name of his mother's assassin had been spoken; he felt that his face betrayed his emotion, and he went and leaned against the bar of the window.
The little greyhound growled.
At the same moment two persons entered—the one announced, and the other having no need to be so.
The first was Réné, the perfumer, who approached Catharine with all the servile obsequiousness of Florentine servants. He held in his hand a box, which he opened, and all the compartments were seen filled with powders and flasks.
The second was Madame de Lorraine, Marguerite's eldest sister. She entered by a small secret door, which led from the King's closet, and, all pale and trembling, and hoping not to be observed by Catharine, who was examining, with Madame de Sauve, the contents of the box brought by René, seated herself beside Marguerite, near whom the King of Navarre was standing, with his hand on his brow, like one who tries to rouse himself from some sudden shock.
At this instant Catharine turned round.
"Daughter," she said to Marguerite, "you may retire to your room. My son, you may go and amuse yourself in the city."
Marguerite rose, and Henry turned half round.
Madame de Lorraine seized Marguerite's hand.
"Sister," she whispered, with great quickness, "in the name of the Duc de Guise, who now saves you, as you saved him, do not go from here—do not go to your apartments."
"Eh! what say you, Claude?" inquired Catharine, turning round.
"Nothing, mother."
"You were whispering to Marguerite."
"Simply to wish her good-night, and convey a greeting to her from the Duchesse de Nevers."
"And where is that fair duchess?"
"At her brother-in-law's, M. de Guise's."
Catharine looked suspiciously at the women and frowning:
"Come here, Claude," said the queen mother.
Claude obeyed, and the queen seized her hand.
"What did you say to her, indiscreet girl that you are?" she murmured, squeezing her daughter's wrist until she nearly shrieked with pain.
"Madame," said Henry to his wife, having lost nothing of the movements of the queen, Claude, or Marguerite,—"madame, will you allow me the honor of kissing your hand?"
Marguerite extended her trembling hand.
"What did she say to you?" whispered Henry, as he stooped to imprint a kiss on her hand.
"Not to go out. In the name of Heaven, do not you go out either!"
This was like a flash; but by its light, swift as it was, Henry at once detected a complete plot.
"This is not all," added Marguerite; "here is a letter, which a country gentleman brought."
"Monsieur de la Mole?"
"Yes."
"Thank you," he said, taking the letter and putting it under his doublet; and, passing in front of his bewildered wife, he placed his hand on the shoulder of the Florentine.
"Well, Maître Réné!" he said, "and how go commercial affairs?"
"Pretty well, monseigneur,—pretty well," replied the poisoner, with his perfidious smile.
"I should think so," said Henry, "with men who, like you, supply all the crowned heads at home and abroad."
"Except the King of Navarre," replied the Florentine, impudently.
"Ventre saint gris, Maître Réné," replied the king, "you are right; and yet my poor mother, who also bought of you, recommended you to me with her dying breath. Come to me to-morrow, Maître Réné, or day after to-morrow, and bring your best perfumes."
"That would not be a bad notion," said Catharine, smiling; "for it is said"—
"That I need some perfumery," interrupted Henry, laughing; "who told you that, mother? Was it Margot?"
"No, my son," replied Catharine, "it was Madame de Sauve."
At this moment the Duchesse de Lorraine, who in spite of all her efforts could no longer contain herself, burst into loud sobs.
Henry did not even turn toward her.
"Sister, what is the matter?" cried Marguerite, darting toward Claude.
"Nothing," said Catharine, passing between the two young women, "nothing; she has those nervous attacks, for which Mazille prescribes aromatic preparations."
And again, and with still more force than before, she pressed her eldest daughter's arm; then, turning toward the youngest:
"There, Margot," she said, "did you not hear me request you to retire to your room? If that is not sufficient, I command you."
"Excuse me, madame," replied Marguerite, trembling and pale; "I wish your majesty good-night."
"I hope your wishes may be heard. Good-night—good-night!"
Marguerite withdrew, staggering, and in vain seeking to meet her husband's eyes, but he did not even turn toward her.
There was a moment's silence, during which Catharine remained with her eyes fastened on the Duchess of Lorraine, who, without speaking, looked at her mother with clasped hands.
Henry's back was still turned, but he was watching the scene in a mirror, while seeming to curl his mustache with a pomade which Réné had just given to him.
"And you, Henry," said Catharine, "are you still intending to go out?"
"Yes, that's true," exclaimed the king. "Faith, I was forgetting that the Duc d'Alençon and the Prince de Condé are waiting for me! These are admirable perfumes; they quite overpower one, and destroy one's memory. Good evening, madame."
"Good evening! To-morrow you will perhaps bring me tidings of the admiral."
"Without fail—Well, Phœbe, what is it?"
"Phœbe!" said the queen mother, impatiently.
"Call her, madame," said the Béarnais, "for she will not allow me to go out."
The queen mother rose, took the little greyhound by the collar, and held her while Henry left the apartment, with his features as calm and smiling as if he did not feel in his heart that his life was in imminent peril.
Behind him the little dog, set free by Catharine de Médicis, rushed to try and overtake him, but the door was closed, and Phœbe could only put her long nose under the tapestry and give a long and mournful howl.
"Now, Charlotte," said Catharine to Madame de Sauve, "go and find Messieurs de Guise and Tavannes, who are in my oratory, and return with them; then remain with the Duchess of Lorraine, who has the vapors."
When La Mole and Coconnas had finished their supper—and it was meagre enough, for the fowls ofLa Belle Étoilehad their pin feathers singed only on the sign—Coconnas whirled his chair around on one leg, stretched out his feet, leaned one elbow on the table, and drinking a last glass of wine, said:
"Do you mean to go to bed instantly, Monsieur de la Mole?"
"Ma foi!I am very much inclined, for it is possible that I may be called up in the night."
"And I, too," said Coconnas; "but it appears to me that, under the circumstances, instead of going to bed and making those wait who are to come to us, we should do better to call for cards and play a game. They would then find us quite ready."
"I would willingly accept your proposal, sir, but I have very little money for play. I have scarce a hundred gold crowns in my valise, for my whole treasure. I rely on that with which to make my fortune!"
"A hundred gold crowns!" cried Coconnas, "and you complain? By Heaven! I have but six!"
"Why," replied La Mole, "I saw you draw from your pocket a purse which appeared not only full, but I should say bloated."
"Ah," said Coconnas, "that is to defray an old debt which I am compelled to pay to an old friend of my father, whom I suspect to be, like yourself, somewhat of a Huguenot. Yes, there are here a hundred rose nobles," he added, slapping his pocket, "but these hundred rose nobles belong to Maître Mercandon. My personal patrimony, as I tell you, is limited to six crowns."
"How, then, can you play?"
"Why, it is because of that I wished to play. Besides, an idea occurs to me."
"What is it?"
"We both came to Paris on the same errand."
"Yes."
"Each of us has a powerful protector."
"Yes."
"You rely on yours, as I rely on mine."
"Yes."
"Well, then, it occurred to me that we should play first for our money, and afterwards for the first favor which came to us, either from the court or from our mistress"—
"Really, a very ingenious idea," said La Mole, with a smile, "but I confess I am not such a gamester as to risk my whole life on a card or a turn of the dice; for the first favor which may come either to you or to me will, in all probability, involve our whole life."
"Well, let us drop out of account the first favor from the court and play for our mistress's first favor."
"I see only one objection to that," said La Mole.
"What objection?"
"I have no mistress!"
"Nor I either. But I expect to have one soon. Thank God! we are not cut out to want one long!"
"Undoubtedly, as you say, you will have your wish, Monsieur de Coconnas, but as I have not the same confidence in my love-star, I feel that it would be robbery, I to pit my fortune against yours. But, if you will, let us play until your six crowns be lost or doubled, and if lost, and you desire to continue the game, you are a gentleman, and your word is as good as gold."
"Well and good!" cried Coconnas, "that's the talk! You are right, sir, a gentleman's word is as good as gold, especially when he has credit at court. Thus, believe me, I did not risk too much when I proposed to play for the first favor we might receive."
"Doubtless, and you might lose it, but I could not gain it; for, as I am with the King of Navarre, I could not receive anything from the Duc de Guise."
"Ah, the heretic!" muttered the landlord as he was at work polishing up his old helmet, "I got on the right scent, did I?" And he stopped his work long enough to cross himself piously.
"Well, then," continued Coconnas, shuffling the cards which the waiter had just brought him, "you are of the"—
"Of the what?"
"Of the new religion."
"I?"
"Yes, you."
"Well, say that I am," said La Mole, with a smile, "have you anything against us?"
"Oh! thank God, no! It is all the same to me. I hate Huguenotry with all my heart, but I do not hate the Huguenots; besides, they are in fashion just now."
"Yes," replied La Mole, smiling; "to wit, the shooting at the admiral with an arquebuse; but supposing we have a game of arquebusades."
"Anything you please," said Coconnas, "provided I get to playing, it is all the same to me."
"Well, let us play, then," said La Mole, picking up his cards and arranging them in his hand.
"Yes, play ahead and with all confidence, for even if I were to lose a hundred crowns of gold against yours I shall have the wherewithal to pay you to-morrow morning."
"Then your fortune will come while you are asleep."
"No; I am going to find it."
"Where? Tell me and I'll go with you."
"At the Louvre."
"Are you going back there to-night?"
"Yes; to-night I have a private audience with the great Duc de Guise."
As soon as Coconnas began to speak about going to seek his fortune at the Louvre, La Hurière stopped polishing his sallet and went and stood behind La Mole's chair, so that Coconnas alone could see him, and made signs to him, which the Piedmontese, absorbed in his game and the conversation, did not notice.
"Well, it is miraculous," remarked La Mole; "and you were right when you said that we were born under the same star. I have also an appointment at the Louvre to-night, but not with the Duc de Guise; mine is with the King of Navarre."
"Have you a pass-word?"
"Yes."
"A rallying sign?"
"No."
"Well, I have one, and my pass-word is"—
As the Piedmontese was saying these words, La Hurière made such an expressive gesture that the indiscreet gentleman, who happened at that instant to raise his head, paused petrified more by the action than by the turn of the cards which had just caused him to lose three crowns.
La Mole looked around, but saw only his landlord standing behind him with folded arms and wearing on his head the sallet which he had seen him polishing the moment before.
"What is the matter, pray?" inquired La Mole of Coconnas.
Coconnas looked at the landlord and at his companion without answering, for he could make nothing out of Maître La Hurière's redoubled gestures.
La Hurière saw that he must go to his aid:
"It is only that I am very fond of cards myself," said he, speaking rapidly, "and I came closer to see the trick which made you gain, and the gentleman saw me with my war helmet on, and as I am only a poor bourgeois, it surprised him."
"You make a fine figure, indeed you do!" cried La Mole, with a burst of laughter.
"Oh, sir," replied La Hurière with admirably pretended good nature and a shrug of the shoulders expressive of his inferiority, "we poor fellows are not very valiant and our appearance is not elegant. It is all right for you fine gentlemen to wear glittering helmets and carry keen rapiers, and provided we mount guard strictly"—
"Aha!" said La Mole, taking his turn at shuffling the cards. "So you mount guard, do you?"
"Eh, mon Dieu, oui, Monsieur le Comte!I am sergeant in a company of citizen militia."
After having said this while La Mole was engaged in dealing the cards, La Hurière withdrew, putting his finger on his lips as a sign of discretion for Coconnas, who was more amazed than ever.
This signal for caution was doubtless the reason that he lost almost as rapidly the second time as the first.
"Well," observed La Mole, "this makes exactly your six crowns. Will you have your revenge on your future fortune?"
"Willingly," replied Coconnas.
"But before you begin, did you not say you had an appointment with the Duc de Guise?"
Coconnas looked toward the kitchen, and saw the great eyes of La Hurière, who was repeating his warning.
"Yes," he replied, "but it is not yet time. But now let us talk a little about yourself, Monsieur de la Mole."
"We should do better, I think, by talking of the game, my dear Monsieur de Coconnas; for unless I am very much mistaken, I am in a fair way of gaining six more crowns."
"By Heaven! that is true! I always heard that the Huguenots had good luck at cards. Devil take me if I haven't a good mind to turn Huguenot!"
La Hurière's eyes sparkled like two coals; but Coconnas, absorbed in his game, did not notice them. "Do so, count, do so," said La Mole, "and though the way in which the change came about is odd, you will be well received among us."
Coconnas scratched his ear.
"If I were sure that your good luck came from that," he said, "I would; for I really do not stickle so overwhelmingly for the mass, and as the King does not think so much of it either"—
"Then it is such a beautiful religion," said La Mole; "so simple, so pure"—
"And, moreover, it is in fashion," said Coconnas; "and, moreover, it brings good luck at cards; for the devil take me if you do not hold all the aces, and yet I have watched you closely, and you play very fairly; you do not cheat; it must be the religion"—
"You owe me six crowns more," said La Mole, quietly.
"Ah, how you tempt me!" said Coconnas; "and if I am not satisfied with Monsieur de Guise to-night"—
"Well?"
"Well, to-morrow I will ask you to present me to the King of Navarre and, be assured, if once I become a Huguenot, I will out-Huguenot Luther, Calvin, Melanchthon, and all the reformers on earth!"
"Hush!" said La Mole, "you will get into a quarrel with our host."
"Ah, that is true," said Coconnas, looking toward the kitchen; "but—no, he is not listening; he is too much occupied at this moment."
"What is he doing, pray?" inquired La Mole, who could not see him from where he was.
"He is talking with—devil take me! it is he!"
"Who?"
"Why, that night-bird with whom he was discoursing when we arrived. The man in the yellow doublet and drab-colored cloak. By Heaven! how earnestly he talks. Say, Maître La Hurière, are you engaged in politics?"
But this time Maître La Hurière's answer was a gesture so energetic and imperious that in spite of his love for the picture card Coconnas got up and went to him.
"What is the matter with you?" asked La Mole.
"You wish wine, sir?" said La Hurière, seizing Coconnas' hand eagerly. "You shall have it. Grégoire, wine for these gentlemen!"
Then he whispered in his ear:
"Silence, if you value your life, silence! And get rid of your companion."
La Hurière was so pale, the sallow man so lugubrious, that Coconnas felt a shiver run over him, and turning to La Mole said:
"My dear sir, I must beg you to excuse me. I have lost fifty crowns in the turn of a hand. I am in bad luck to-night, and I fear I may get into difficulties."
"Well, sir, as you please," replied La Mole; "besides, I shall not be sorry to lie down for a time. Maître la Hurière!"
"Monsieur le Comte?"
"If any one comes for me from the King of Navarre, wake me; I shall be dressed, and consequently ready."
"So shall I," said Coconnas; "and that I may not keep his highness waiting, I will prepare the sign. Maître la Hurière, some white paper and scissors!"
"Grégoire!" cried La Hurière, "white paper to write a letter on and scissors to cut the envelope with."
"Ah!" said the Piedmontese to himself. "Something extraordinary is going on here!"
"Good-night, Monsieur de Coconnas," said La Mole; "and you, landlord, be so good as to light me to my room. Good luck, my friend!" and La Mole disappeared up the winding staircase, followed by La Hurière.
Then the mysterious man, taking Coconnas by the arm, said to him, speaking very rapidly:
"Sir, you have very nearly betrayed a secret on which depends the fate of a kingdom. God saw fit to have you close your mouth in time. One word more, and I should have brought you down with my arquebuse. Now we are alone, fortunately; listen!"
"But who are you that you address me with this tone of authority?"
"Did you ever hear talk of the Sire de Maurevel?"
"The assassin of the admiral?"
"And of Captain de Mouy."
"Yes."
"Well, I am the Sire de Maurevel."
"Oho!" said Coconnas.
"Now listen to me!"
"By Heaven! I assure you I will listen!"
"Hush!" said Maurevel, putting his finger on his mouth.
Coconnas listened.
At that moment he heard the landlord close the door of a chamber, then the door of a corridor, and bolt it. Then he rushed down the stairs to join the two speakers.
He offered a chair to Coconnas, a chair to Maurevel, and took one for himself.
"All is safe now, Monsieur de Maurevel," said he; "you may speak."
It was striking eleven o'clock at Saint Germain l'Auxerrois. Maurevel counted each of the hammer-strokes as they sounded clear and melancholy through the night, and when the last echo had died away in space he turned to Coconnas, who was greatly mystified at seeing the precautions taken by the two men. "Sir," he asked, "are you a good Catholic?"
"Why, I think I am," replied Coconnas.
"Sir," continued Maurevel, "are you devoted to the King?"
"Heart and soul! I even feel that you insult me, sir, in asking such a question."
"We will not quarrel over that; only you are going to follow us."
"Whither?"
"That is of little consequence—put yourself in our hands; your fortune, and perhaps your life, is at stake."
"I tell you, sir, that at midnight I have an appointment at the Louvre."
"That is where we are going."
"Monsieur de Guise is expecting me there."
"And us also."
"But I have a private pass-word," continued Coconnas, somewhat mortified at sharing with the Sire de Maurevel and Maître La Hurière the honor of his audience.
"So have we."
"But I have a sign of recognition."
Maurevel smiled.
Then he drew from beneath his doublet a handful of crosses in white stuff, gave one to La Hurière, one to Coconnas, and took another for himself. La Hurière fastened his to his helmet. Maurevel attached his to the side of his hat.
"Ah," said Coconnas, amazed, "the appointment and the rallying pass-word were for every one?"
"Yes, sir,—that is to say, for all good Catholics."
"Then there is a festival at the Louvre—some royal banquet, is there not?" said Coconnas; "and it is desired to exclude those hounds of Huguenots,—good, capital, excellent! They have been showing off too long."
"Yes, there is to be a festival at the Louvre—a royal banquet; and the Huguenots are invited; and moreover, they will be the heroes of the festival, and will pay for the banquet, and if you will be one of us, we will begin by going to invite their principal champion—their Gideon, as they call him."
"The admiral!" cried Coconnas.
"Yes, the old Gaspard, whom I missed, like a fool, though I aimed at him with the King's arquebuse."
"And this, my gentleman, is why I was polishing my sallet, sharpening my sword, and putting an edge on my knives," said La Hurière, in a harsh voice consonant with war.
At these words Coconnas shuddered and turned very pale, for he began to understand.
"What, really," he exclaimed, "this festival—this banquet is a—you are going"—
"You have been a long time guessing, sir," said Maurevel, "and it is easy to see that you are not so weary of these insolent heretics as we are."
"And you take on yourself," he said, "to go to the admiral's and to"—
Maurevel smiled, and drawing Coconnas to the window he said:
"Look there!—do you see, in the small square at the end of the street, behind the church, a troop drawn up noiselessly in the shadow?"
"Yes."
"The men forming that troop have, like Maître la Hurière, and myself, and yourself, a cross in their hats."
"Well?"
"Well, these men are a company of Swiss, from the smaller cantons, commanded by Toquenot,—you know the men from the smaller cantons are the King's cronies."
"Oho!" said Coconnas.
"Now look at that troop of horse passing along the Quay—do you recognize their leader?"
"How can I recognize him?" asked Coconnas, with a shudder; "I reached Paris only this evening."
"Well, then, he is the one with whom you have a rendezvous at the Louvre at midnight. See, he is going to wait for you!"
"The Duc de Guise?"
"Himself! His escorts are Marcel, the ex-provost of the tradesmen, and Jean Choron, the present provost. These two are going to summon their companies, and here, down this street comes the captain of the quarter. See what he will do!"
"He knocks at each door; but what is there on the doors at which he knocks?"
"A white cross, young man, such as that which we have in our hats. In days gone by they let God bear the burden of distinguishing his own; now we have grown more civilized and we save him the bother."
"But at each house at which he knocks the door opens and from each house armed citizens come out."
"He will knock here in turn, and we shall in turn go out."
"What," said Coconnas, "every one called out to go and kill one old Huguenot? By Heaven! it is shameful! It is an affair of cut-throats, and not of soldiers."
"Young man," replied Maurevel, "if the old are objectionable to you, you may choose young ones—you will find plenty for all tastes. If you despise daggers, use your sword, for the Huguenots are not the men to allow their throats to be cut without defending themselves, and you know that Huguenots, young or old, are tough."
"But are they all going to be killed, then?" cried Coconnas.
"All!"
"By the King's order?"
"By order of the King and Monsieur de Guise."
"And when?"
"When you hear the bell of Saint Germain l'Auxerrois."
"Oh! so that was why that amiable German attached to the Duc de Guise—what is his name?"
"Monsieur de Besme."
"That is it. That is why Monsieur de Besme told me to hasten at the first sound of the tocsin."
"So then you have seen Monsieur de Besme?"
"I have seen him and spoken to him."
"Where?"
"At the Louvre. He admitted me, gave me the pass-word, gave me"—
"Look there!"
"By Heaven!—there he is himself."
"Would you speak with him?"
"Why, really, I should not object."
Maurevel carefully opened the window; Besme was passing at the moment with twenty soldiers.
"Guise and Lorraine!" said Maurevel.
Besme turned round, and perceiving that he himself was addressed, came under the window.
"Oh, is it you, Monsir de Maurefel?"
"Yes, ’tis I; what are you looking for?"
"I am looking for de hostelry of deBelle Étoile, to find a Monsir Gogonnas."
"Here I am, Monsieur de Besme," said the young man.
"Goot, goot; are you ready?"
"Yes—to do what?"
"Vatefer Monsieur de Maurefel may dell you, for he is a goot Gatolic."
"Do you hear?" inquired Maurevel.
"Yes," replied Coconnas, "but, Monsieur de Besme, where are you going?"
"I?" asked Monsieur de Besme, with a laugh.
"Yes, you."
"I am going to fire off a leedle wort at the admiral."
"Fire off two, if need be," said Maurevel, "and this time, if he gets up at the first, do not let him get up at the second."
"Haf no vear, Monsir de Maurefel, haf no vear, und meanvile get dis yoong mahn on de right drack."
"Don't worry about me: the Coconnas are regular bloodhounds, and I am a chip off the old block."[2]
"Atieu."
"Go on!"
"Unt you?"
"Begin the hunt; we shall be at the death."
De Besme went on, and Maurevel closed the window.
"Did you hear, young man?" said Maurevel; "if you have any private enemy, even if he is not altogether a Huguenot, you can put him on your list, and he will pass with the others."
Coconnas, more bewildered than ever with what he saw and heard, looked first at his landlord, who was assuming formidable attitudes, and then at Maurevel, who quietly drew a paper from his pocket.
"Here's my list," said he; "three hundred. Let each good Catholic do this night one-tenth part of the business I shall do, and to-morrow there will not remain one single heretic in the kingdom."
"Hush!" said La Hurière.
"What is it?" inquired Coconnas and Maurevel together.
They heard the first pulsation from the bell in Saint Germain l'Auxerrois.
"The signal!" exclaimed Maurevel. "The time is set forward! I was told it was appointed at midnight—so much the better. When it concerns the interest of God and the King, it is better for clocks to be fast than slow!"
In reality they heard the church bell mournfully tolling.
Then a shot was fired, and almost instantly the light of several torches blazed up like flashes of lightning in the Rue de l'Arbre Sec.
Coconnas passed his hand over his brow, which was damp with perspiration.
"It has begun!" cried Maurevel. "Now to work—away!"
"One moment, one moment!" said the landlord. "Before we begin, let us protect the camp, as we say in the army. I do not wish to have my wife and children's throats cut while I am out. There is a Huguenot here."
"Monsieur de la Mole!" said Coconnas, starting.
"Yes, the heretic has thrown himself into the wolf's throat."
"What!" said Coconnas, "would you attack your guest?"
"I gave an extra edge to my rapier for his special benefit."
"Oho!" said the Piedmontese, frowning.
"I never yet killed anything but my rabbits, ducks, and chickens," replied the worthy inn-keeper, "and I do not know very well how to go to work to kill a man; well, I will practise on him, and if I am clumsy, no one will be there to laugh at me."
"By Heaven! it is hard," said Coconnas. "Monsieur de la Mole is my companion; Monsieur de la Mole has supped with me; Monsieur de la Mole has played with me"—
"Yes; but Monsieur de la Mole is a heretic," said Maurevel. "Monsieur de la Mole is doomed; and if we do not kill him, others will."
"Not to say," added the host, "that he has won fifty crowns from you."
"True," said Coconnas; "but fairly, I am sure."
"Fairly or not, you must pay them, while, if I kill him, you are quits."
"Come, come!" cried Maurevel; "make haste, gentlemen, an arquebuse-shot, a rapier-thrust, a blow with a mallet, a stroke with any weapon you please; but get done with it if you wish to reach the admiral's in time to help Monsieur de Guise as we promised."
Coconnas sighed.
"I'll make haste!" cried La Hurière, "wait for me."
"By Heaven!" cried Coconnas, "he will put the poor fellow to great pain, and, perhaps, rob him. I must be present to finish him, if requisite, and to prevent any one from touching his money."
And impelled by this happy thought, Coconnas followed La Hurière upstairs, and soon overtook him, for according as the landlord went up, doubtless as the effect of reflection, he slackened his pace.
As he reached the door, Coconnas still following, many gunshots were discharged in the street. Instantly La Mole was heard to leap out of bed and the flooring creaked under his feet.
"Diable!" muttered La Hurière, somewhat disconcerted; "that has awakened him, I think."
"It looks like it," observed Coconnas.
"And he will defend himself."
"He is capable of it. Suppose, now, Maître la Hurière, he were to kill you; that would be droll!"
"Hum, hum!" responded the landlord, but knowing himself to be armed with a good arquebuse, he took courage and dashed the door in with a vigorous kick.
La Mole, without his hat, but dressed, was entrenched behind his bed, his sword between his teeth, and his pistols in his hands.
"Oho!" said Coconnas, his nostrils expanding as if he had been a wild beast smelling blood, "this grows interesting, Maître la Hurière. Forward!"
"Ah, you would assassinate me, it seems!" cried La Mole, with glaring eyes; "and it is you, wretch!"
Maître la Hurière's reply to this was to take aim at the young man with his arquebuse; but La Mole was on his guard, and as he fired, fell on his knees, and the ball flew over his head.
"Help!" cried La Mole; "help, Monsieur de Coconnas!"
"Help, Monsieur de Maurevel!—help!" cried La Hurière.
"Ma foi!Monsieur de la Mole," replied Coconnas, "all I can do in this affair is not to join the attack against you. It seems all the Huguenots are to be put to death to-night, in the King's name. Get out of it as well as you can."
"Ah, traitors! assassins!—is it so? Well, then, take this!" and La Mole, aiming in his turn, fired one of his pistols. La Hurière, who had kept his eye on him, dodged to one side; but Coconnas, not anticipating such a reply, stayed where he was, and the bullet grazed his shoulder.
"By Heaven!" he exclaimed, grinding his teeth; "I have it. Well, then, let it be we two, since you will have it so!"
And drawing his rapier, he rushed on La Mole.
Had he been alone La Mole would, doubtless, have awaited his attack; but Coconnas had La Hurière to aid him, who was reloading his gun, and Maurevel, who, responding to the innkeeper's invitation, was rushing up-stairs four steps at a time.
La Mole, therefore, dashed into a small closet, which he bolted inside.
"Ah, coward!" cried Coconnas, furious, and striking at the door with the pommel of his sword; "wait! wait! and I will make as many holes in your body as you have gained crowns of me to-night. I came up to prevent you from suffering! Oh, I came up to prevent you from being robbed and you pay me back by putting a bullet into my shoulder! Wait for me, coward, wait!"
While this was going on, Maître la Hurière came up and with one blow with the butt-end of his arquebuse smashed in the door.
Coconnas darted into the closet, but only bare walls met him. The closet was empty and the window was open.
"He must have jumped out," said the landlord, "and as we are on the fourth story, he is surely dead."
"Or he has escaped by the roof of the next house," said Coconnas, putting his leg on the window-sill and preparing to follow him over this narrow and slippery route; but Maurevel and La Hurière seized him and drew him back into the room.
"Are you mad?" they both exclaimed at once; "you will kill yourself!"
"Bah!" said Coconnas, "I am a mountaineer, and used to climbing glaciers; besides, when a man has once offended me, I would go up to heaven or descend to hell with him, by whatever route he pleases. Let me do as I wish."
"Well," said Maurevel, "he is either dead or a long way off by this time. Come with us; and if he escape you, you will find a thousand others to take his place."
"You are right," cried Coconnas. "Death to the Huguenots! I want revenge, and the sooner the better."
And the three rushed down the staircase, like an avalanche.
"To the admiral's!" shouted Maurevel.
"To the admiral's!" echoed La Hurière.
"To the admiral's, then, if it must be so!" cried Coconnas in his turn.
And all three, leaving theBelle Étoilein charge of Grégoire and the other waiters, hastened toward the admiral's hôtel in the Rue de Béthizy; a bright light and the report of fire-arms guided them in that direction.
"Ah, who comes here?" cried Coconnas. "A man without his doublet or scarf!"
"It is some one escaping," said Maurevel.
"Fire! fire!" said Coconnas; "you who have arquebuses."
"Faith, not I," replied Maurevel. "I keep my powder for better game."
"You, then, La Hurière!"
"Wait, wait!" said the innkeeper, taking aim.
"Oh, yes, wait," cried Coconnas, "and meantime he will escape."
And he rushed after the unhappy wretch, whom he soon overtook, as he was wounded; but at the moment when, in order that he might not strike him behind, he exclaimed, "Turn, will you! turn!" the report of an arquebuse was heard, a bullet whistled by Coconnas's ears, and the fugitive rolled over, like a hare in its swiftest flight struck by the shot of the sportsman.
A cry of triumph was heard behind Coconnas. The Piedmontese turned round and saw La Hurière brandishing his weapon.
"Ah," he exclaimed, "I have handselled this time at any rate."
"And only just missed making a hole quite through me."
"Be on your guard!—be on your guard!" cried La Hurière.
Coconnas sprung back. The wounded man had risen on his knee, and, eager for revenge, was just on the point of stabbing him with his poniard, when the landlord's warning put the Piedmontese on his guard.
"Ah, viper!" shouted Coconnas; and rushing at the wounded man, he thrust his sword through him three times up to the hilt.
"And now," cried he, leaving the Huguenot in the agonies of death, "to the admiral's!—to the admiral's!"
"Aha! my gentlemen," said Maurevel, "it seems to work."
"Faith! yes," replied Coconnas. "I do not know if it is the smell of gunpowder makes me drunk, or the sight of blood excites me, but by Heaven! I am thirsty for slaughter. It is like a battue of men. I have as yet only had battues of bears and wolves, and on my honor, a battue of men seems more amusing."
And the three went on their way.
The hôtel occupied by the admiral, as we have said, was situated in the Rue de Béthizy. It was a great mansion at the rear of a court and had two wings giving on the street. A wall furnished with a large gate and two small grilled doors stretched from wing to wing.
When our three Guisards reached the end of the Rue de Béthizy, which is a continuation of the Rue des Fossés Saint Germain l'Auxerrois, they saw the hôtel surrounded by Swiss, by soldiers, and by armed citizens; every one had in his right hand either a sword or a pike or an arquebuse, and some held in their left hands torches, shedding over the scene a fitful and melancholy glare which, according as the throng moved, shifted along the street, climbed the walls; or spread over that living sea where every weapon cast its answering flash.
All around the hôtel and in the Rues Tirechappe, Étienne, and Bertin Poirée the terrible work was proceeding. Long shouts were heard, there was an incessant rattle of musketry, and from time to time some wretch, half naked, pale, and drenched in blood, leaped like a hunted stag into the circle of lugubrious light where a host of fiends seemed to be at work.
In an instant Coconnas, Maurevel, and La Hurière, accredited by their white crosses, and received with cries of welcome, were in the thickest of this struggling, panting mob. Doubtless they would not have been able to advance had not some of the throng recognized Maurevel and made way for him. Coconnas and La Hurière followed him closely and the three therefore contrived to get into the court-yard.
In the centre of this court-yard, the three doors of which had been burst open, a man, around whom the assassins formed a respectful circle, stood leaning on his drawn rapier, and eagerly looking up at a balcony about fifteen feet above him, and extending in front of the principal window of the hôtel.
This man stamped impatiently on the ground, and from time to time questioned those that were nearest to him.
"Nothing yet!" murmured he. "No one!—he must have been warned and has escaped. What do you think, Du Gast?"
"Impossible, monseigneur."
"Why? Did you not tell me that just before we arrived a man, bare-headed, a drawn sword in his hand, came running, as if pursued, knocked at the door, and was admitted?"
"Yes, monseigneur; but M. de Besme came up immediately, the gates were shattered, and the hôtel was surrounded."
"The man went in sure enough, but he has not gone out."
"Why," said Coconnas to La Hurière, "if my eyes do not deceive me, I see Monsieur de Guise."
"You do see him, sir. Yes; the great Henry de Guise is come in person to watch for the admiral and serve him as he served the duke's father. Every one has his day, and it is our turn now."
"Holà, Besme, holà!" cried the duke, in his powerful voice, "have you not finished yet?"
And he struck his sword so forcibly against the stones that sparks flew out.
At this instant shouts were heard in the hôtel—then several shots—then a great shuffling of feet and a clashing of swords, and then all was again silent.
The duke was about to rush into the house.
"Monseigneur, monseigneur!" said Du Gast, detaining him, "your dignity commands you to wait here."
"You are right, Du Gast. I must stay here; but I am dying with impatience and anxiety. If he were to escape me!"
Suddenly the noise of feet came nearer—the windows of the first floor were lighted up with what seemed the reflection of a conflagration.
The window, to which the duke's eyes had been so many times lifted, opened, or, rather, was shattered to pieces, and a man, his pale face and white neck stained with blood, appeared on the balcony.
"Ah! at last, Besme!" cried the duke; "speak! speak!"
"Louk! louk!" replied the German coldly, and stooping down he lifted up something which seemed like a heavy body.
"But where are the others?" asked the duke, impatiently, "where are the others?"
"De udders are vinishing de udders!"
"And what have you done?"
"Vait! You shall peholt! Shtant pack a liddle."
The duke fell back a step.
At that instant the object Besme was dragging toward him with such effort became visible.
It was the body of an old man.
He lifted it above the balcony, held it suspended an instant, and then flung it down at his master's feet.
The heavy thud, the billows of blood spurting from the body and spattering the pavement all around, filled even the duke himself with horror; but this feeling lasted only an instant, and curiosity caused every one to crowd forward, so that the glare of the torches flickered on the victim's body.
They could see a white beard, a venerable face, and limbs contracted by death.
"The admiral!" cried twenty voices, as instantaneously hushed.
"Yes, the admiral, here he is!" said the duke, approaching the corpse, and contemplating it with silent ecstasy.
"The admiral! the admiral!" repeated the witnesses of this terrible scene, crowding together and timidly approaching the old man, majestic even in death.
"Ah, at last, Gaspard!" said the Duke de Guise, triumphantly. "Murderer of my father! thus do I avenge him!"
And the duke dared to plant his foot on the breast of the Protestant hero.
But instantly the dying warrior opened his eyes, his bleeding and mutilated hand was clinched for the last time, and the admiral, though without stirring, said to the duke in a sepulchral voice:
"Henry de Guise, some day the assassin's foot shall be felt on your breast. I did not kill your father. A curse upon you."
The duke, pale, and trembling in spite of himself, felt a cold shudder come over him. He passed his hand across his brow, as if to dispel the fearful vision; when he dared again to glance at the admiral his eyes were closed, his hand unclinched, and a stream of black blood was flowing from the mouth which had just pronounced such terrible words.
The duke raised his sword with a gesture of desperate resolution.
"Vell, monsir, are you gondent?"
"Yes, my worthy friend, yes, for you have revenged"—
"The Dugue François, haf I not?"
"Our religion," replied Henry, in a solemn voice. "And now," he went on, addressing the Swiss, the soldiers, and citizens who filled the court and street, "to work, my friends, to work!"
"Good evening, M. de Besme," said Coconnas with a sort of admiration, approaching the German, who still stood on the balcony, calmly wiping his sword.
"So you settled him, did you?" cried La Hurière; "how did you manage it?"
"Oh, zimbly, zimbly; he haf heerd de gommotion, he haf oben de door unt I joost brick my rabier troo his potty. But I tink dey am gilling Téligny now. I hear his gries!"
At that instant, in fact, several shrieks, apparently uttered by a woman in distress, were heard; the windows of the long gallery which formed a wing of the hotel were lighted up with a red glare; two men were seen fleeing, pursued by a long line of assassins. An arquebuse-shot killed one; the other, finding an open window directly in his way, without stopping to look at the distance from the ground, sprang boldly into the courtyard below, heeding not the enemies who awaited him there.
"Kill! kill!" cried the assassins, seeing their prey about to escape them.
The fugitive picked up his sword, which as he stumbled had fallen from his hand, dashed headlong through the soldiers, upset three or four, ran one through the body, and amid the pistol-shots and curses of the soldiers, rendered furious because they had missed him, darted like lightning in front of Coconnas, who was waiting for him at the gate with his poniard in his hand.
"Touched!" cried the Piedmontese, piercing his arm with his keen, delicate blade.
"Coward!" replied the fugitive, striking his enemy in the face with the flat of his weapon, for want of room to thrust at him with its point.
"A thousand devils!" cried Coconnas; "it's Monsieur de la Mole!"
"Monsieur de la Mole!" reëchoed La Hurière and Maurevel.
"He is the one who warned the admiral!" cried several soldiers.
"Kill him—kill him!" was shouted on all sides.
Coconnas, La Hurière, and a dozen soldiers rushed in pursuit of La Mole, who, covered with blood, and having attained that state of exaltation which is the last resource of human strength, dashed through the streets, with no other guide than instinct. Behind him, the footsteps and shouts of his enemies spurred him on and seemed to give him wings. Occasionally a bullet would whistle by his ears and suddenly add new swiftness to his flight just as it was beginning to slacken. He no longer breathed; it was not breath, but a dull rattle, a hoarse panting, that came from his chest. Perspiration and blood wet his locks and ran together down his face.
His doublet soon became too oppressive for the beating of his heart and he tore it off. Soon his sword became too heavy for his hand and he flung it far away. Sometimes it seemed to him that the footsteps of his pursuers were farther off and that he was about to escape them; but in response to their shouts, other murderers who were along his path and nearer to him left off their bloody occupations and started in pursuit of him.
Suddenly he caught sight of the river flowing silently at his left; it seemed to him that he should feel, like a stag at bay, an ineffable pleasure in plunging into it, and only the supreme power of reason could restrain him.
On his right was the Louvre, dark and motionless, but full of strange and ominous sounds; soldiers on the drawbridge came and went, and helmets and cuirasses glittered in the moonlight. La Mole thought of the King of Navarre, as he had before thought of Coligny; they were his only protectors. He collected all his strength, and inwardly vowing to abjure his faith should he escape the massacre, by making a detour of a score or two of yards he misled the mob pursuing him, darted straight for the Louvre, leaped upon the drawbridge among the soldiers, received another poniard stab which grazed his side, and despite the cries of "Kill—kill!" which resounded on all sides, and the opposing weapons of the sentinels, darted like an arrow through the court, into the vestibule, mounted the staircase, then up two stories higher, recognized a door, and leaning against it, struck it violently with his hands and feet.
"Who is there?" asked a woman's voice.
"Oh, my God!" murmured La Mole; "they are coming, I hear them; ’tis I—’tis I!"
"Who are you?" said the voice.
La Mole recollected the pass-word.
"Navarre—Navarre!" cried he.
The door instantly opened. La Mole, without thanking, without even seeing Gillonne, dashed into the vestibule, then along a corridor, through two or three chambers, until at last he entered a room lighted by a lamp suspended from the ceiling.