You have not heard the news, Monsieur Philip?
You have not heard the news, Monsieur Philip?
"You have not heard the news, Monsieur Philip?"
"No, mademoiselle, I have heard no particular news."
"I am glad of it. I would rather tell you myself. My father has, today, laid his commands on me to marry the Sieur de Pascal."
Philip could not trust himself to speak. He had never acknowledged to himself that he loved Claire de Valecourt; and had, over and over again, endeavoured to impress upon his mind the fact that it would be ridiculous for him even to think of her; for that her father would never dream of giving her, a rich heiress, and the last of one of the proudest families of Dauphiny, to a simple English gentleman.
As he did not speak, the girl went on after a pause.
"It is not my wish, Monsieur Philip; but French girls do not choose for themselves. My father stated his wishes to me three months ago, in Dauphiny. I then asked for a little time, and now he has told me that it is to be. He is wise and good, and I have nothing to say against the Sieur de Pascal; who, as you know, is our near neighbour, a brave gentleman, and one whom I have known since my childhood. It is only that I do not love him. I have told my father so, but he says that it is not to be expected that a young maid should love, until after marriage."
"And you have promised?" Philip asked.
"Yes, I have promised," she said simply. "It is the duty of a daughter to obey her father, especially when that father is as good and kind as mine has always been to me.
"There, he is beckoning to me;" and, rising, she crossed the room.
Philip, a few minutes later, took his departure quietly. Francois de Laville came in, an hour afterwards, to their lodgings.
"Well, Philip, I did not see you leave the count's. Did you hear the news before you left? The count announced it shortly after you had gone."
"His daughter told me herself," Philip said.
"I am sorry, Philip. I had thought, perhaps--but it is of no use talking of that, now."
"Not the least in the world, Francois. It is natural that her father should wish her to marry a noble of his own province. She has consented, and there is no more to be said.
"When is Henri to arrive? We are all to ride out to meet him, and to follow him into Paris. I hope that it will all pass off well."
"Why, of course it will. What is to prevent it? The wedding will be the grandest ever known in Paris. I hear that Henri brings with him seven hundred Huguenot gentlemen; and a hundred of us here will join him, under the Admiral. It will be a brave sight."
"I wish it was all over."
"Why, it is not often you are in low spirits, Philip. Is it the news that has upset you, or have you heard anything else?"
"No; but Pierre has been croaking and prophesying evil, and although I in no way agree with him, it has still made me uneasy."
"Why, what is there to fear?" Francois said, laughing. "Not the mob of Paris, surely. They would never venture to brave the king's anger by marring the nuptials by disorder; and if they did, methinks that eight hundred of us, with Coligny at our head, could cut our way through the mob of Paris from one end of the city to the other."
The entrance of the King of Navarre into Paris was, indeed, an imposing sight. Coligny with his train had joined him outside the town, and the Admiral rode on one side of the young king, and the Prince of Conde on the other. With them rode the Dukes of Anjou and Alencon, who had ridden out with a gay train of nobles to welcome Henri in the king's name, and escort him into the city. The Huguenots were still in mourning for the late queen; but the sumptuous materials of their dress, set off by their gold chains and ornaments, made a brave show even by the side of the gay costumes of the prince's party.
The betrothal took place at the Louvre on the 17th of August, and was followed by a supper and a ball. After the conclusion of the festivities Marguerite was, in accordance with the custom of the princesses of the blood, escorted by her brothers and a large retinue to the Bishops' Palace adjoining the Cathedral, to pass the night before her wedding there.
The ceremony upon the following day was a most gorgeous one. The king, his two brothers, Henri of Navarre, and Conde were all dressed alike in light yellow satin, embroidered with silver, and enriched with precious stones. Marguerite was in a violet velvet dress, embroidered with fleurs de lis, and she wore on her head a crown glittering with gems. The queen and the queen mother were dressed in cloth of gold.
Upon a lofty platform, in front of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, Henri of Navarre with his train of Protestant lords awaited the coming of the bride; who was escorted by the king, and all the members of his court. The ceremony was performed, in sight of an enormous concourse of people, by the Cardinal Bourbon, who used a form that had been previously agreed upon by both parties. Henri then led his bride into the cathedral; and afterwards, with his Protestant companions, retired to the Episcopal Palace while mass was being said. When this was over, the whole party sat down to dinner in the Episcopal Palace.
In the evening an entertainment was given, in the Louvre, to the notabilities of Paris; and after supper there was a masque of the most lavish magnificence. On Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday there was a continuation of pageants and entertainments. During these festivities the king had shown marked courtesy to the Admiral and the Huguenot lords, and it seemed as if he had again emancipated himself from his mother's influence; and the hopes of the Protestants, that he would shortly declare war with Spain, were raised to the highest point.
Although the question was greatly debated at the time, and the belief that the massacre of the Protestants was deliberately planned long beforehand by the king and queen-mother is still generally entertained, the balance of evidence is strongly the other way. What dark thoughts may have passed through the scheming brain of Catharine de Medici none can say, but it would certainly appear that it was not until after the marriage of Henri and Marguerite that they took form. She was driven to bay. She saw that, in the event of a war with Spain, the Huguenots would become all powerful in France. Already the influence of the Admiral was greater than her own, and it had become a battle of life and death with her; for Coligny, in his fearless desire to do what was right, and for the service of France, was imprudent enough over and over again to warn the king against the evil influence of the queen mother and the Duke d'Anjou; and Charles, in his fits of temper, did not hesitate to divulge these counsels. The Duke d'Anjou and his mother, therefore, came to the conclusion that Coligny must be put out of the way.
The duke, afterwards, did not scruple to avow his share in the preparations for the massacre of Saint Bartholomew. The Duchess of Nemours, her son Henri of Guise, and her brother-in-law the Duc d'Aumale were taken into their counsels, and the plan was speedily settled.
Few as were the conspirators taken into the confidence of the queen mother, mysterious rumours of danger reached the ears of the Huguenots. Some of these, taking the alarm, left Paris and made for their estates; but by far the greater portion refused to believe that there could be danger to those whom the king had invited to be present upon such an occasion. In another week, Coligny would be leaving, having, as he hoped, brought the king entirely round to his views; and the vast majority of the Huguenot gentlemen resolved to stay until he left.
Pierre grew more and more serious. Francois had left the lodgings, being one of the Huguenot gentlemen whom Henri of Navarre had chosen to lodge with him at the Louvre.
"You are getting quite unbearable, Pierre, with your long face and your grim looks," Philip said to him on the Friday morning, half in joke and half in earnest. "Why, man, in another week we shall be out of Paris, and on our way south."
"I hope so, Monsieur Philip, with all my heart I hope so; but I feel just as I used to do when I was a boy living in the woods, and I saw a thundercloud working up overhead. I cannot tell you why I feel so. It is something in the air. I wish sir, oh, so much! that you would leave at once."
"That I cannot do, Pierre. I have no estates that demand my attention, no excuse whatever for going. I came here with my cousin, and shall leave with him."
"Well, sir, if it must be, it must."
"But what is that you fear, Pierre?"
"When one is in a town, sir, with Catharine de Medici, and her son Anjou, and the Guises, there is always something to fear. Guise is the idol of the mob of Paris, who have always shown themselves ready to attack the Huguenots. He has but to hold up his finger, and they would be swarming on us like bees."
"But there are troops in the town, Pierre, and the king would punish Paris heavily, were it to insult his guests."
"The king is a weathercock, and goes whichever way the wind blows, monsieur--today he is with the Admiral, tomorrow he may be with the Guises.
"At any rate, I have taken my precautions. I quite understand that, if the danger is foreseen, you will all rally round the Admiral and try to fight your way out of Paris. But if it comes suddenly there will be no time for this. At any hour the mob may come surging up the streets, shouting, as they have often shouted before, 'Death to the Huguenots!' Then, monsieur, fighting would not avail you. You would be unable to join your friends, and you would have to think first of your own life.
"I have been examining the house, and I find that from an upper window one can gain the roof. I got out yesterday evening, after it was dark, and found that I could easily make my way along. The tenth house from here is the one where the Count de Valecourt lodges, and it is easy to gain access to it by a window in the roof. There will be some of your friends there, at any rate. Or we can pass down through any of the intervening houses. In the three before we reach that of the count Huguenots are lodged. The others belong to Catholics, but it might be possible to pass down through them and to go into the street unobserved.
"I have bought for myself some rags, such as are worn by the lowest of the mob; and for you a monk's gown and hood. These I have placed securely against a chimney on our roof.
"I have also, monsieur," and Pierre's eyes twinkled, "bought the dress of a woman of the lower class, thinking that there might be some lady you might be desirous of saving."
"You frighten me, Pierre, with your roofs and your disguises," Philip said, looking with wonder at his follower. "Why, man, this is a nightmare of your own imagination."
"It may be so, master. If it is, no harm is done. I have laid out a few crowns uselessly, and there is an end of it. But if it should not be a nightmare, but a real positive danger, you would at least be prepared for it; and those few crowns may be the saving of our lives."
Philip walked up and down the room for some time.
"At any rate, Pierre, you have acted wisely. As you say, the cost is as nothing; and though my reason revolts against a belief in this nightmare of yours, I am not such a fool as to refuse to pay any attention to it. I know that you are no coward, and certainly not one to indulge in wild fancies.
"Let us go a step farther. Suppose that all this should turn out true, and that you, I, and--and some lady--are in disguise in the midst of a howling mob shouting, 'Death to the Huguenots!' What should we do next? Where should we go?
"It seems to me that your disguise for me is a badly chosen one. As a monk, how could I keep with you as a beggar, still less with a woman?"
"When I bought the monk's robe I had not thought of a woman, monsieur. That was an afterthought. But what you say is just. I must get you another disguise. You shall be dressed as a butcher, or a smith."
"Let it be a smith, by all means, Pierre. Besides, it would be safer. I would smear my face with dirt. I should get plenty on my hands from climbing over the roofs.
"Let us suppose ourselves, then, in the mob. What should we do next?"
"That would all depend, sir, whether the soldiers follow the Guises and take part with the mob in their rising. If so, Paris would be in a turmoil from end to end, and the gates closed. I have thought it all over, again and again; and while your worship has been attending the entertainments, I have been walking about Paris.
"If it is at night I should say we had best make for the river, take a boat and drift down; or else make for the walls, and lower ourselves by a rope from them. If it is in the day we could not do that; and I have found a hovel, at present untenanted, close to the walls, and we could wait there until night."
"You will end by making me believe this, Pierre," Philip said angrily, as he again walked up and down the room, with impatient steps. "If you had a shadow of foundation for what you say, even a rumour that you had picked up in the street, I would go straight to the Admiral. But how could I go and say:
"'My servant, who is a faithful fellow, has taken it into his head that there is danger from an attack on us by the mob.'
"What think you the Admiral would say to that? He would say that it was next door to treason to imagine such things, and that if men were to act upon such fancies as these, they would be fit only for hospitals for the insane. Moreover he would say that, even if you had evidence, even if you had something to show that treachery was meant, he would still, in the interest of France, stay at his post of duty."
At this moment the door opened, and Francois de Laville entered hurriedly.
"What is the matter, Francois?" Philip exclaimed, seeing that his cousin looked pale and agitated.
"Have you not heard the news?"
"I have heard nothing. I have not been out this morning."
"The Admiral has been shot."
Philip uttered an exclamation of horror.
"Not killed, Francois; not killed, I trust?"
"No; two balls were fired, one took off a finger of his right hand, and another has lodged in his left arm. He had just left the king, who was playing at tennis, and was walking homewards with two or three gentlemen, when an arquebus was fired from a house not far from his own. Two of the gentlemen with him assisted him home, while some of the others burst in the door of the house.
"They were too late. Only a woman and a manservant were found there. The assassin had fled by the back of the house, where a horse was standing in waiting. It is said that the house belongs to the old Duchess of Guise.
"It is half an hour since the news reached the palace, and you may imagine the consternation it excited. The king has shut himself up in his room. Navarre and Conde are in deep grief, for they both regard the Admiral almost as a father. As for the rest of us, we are furious.
"There is a report that the man who was seen galloping away from the house from which the shot was fired was that villain Maurevel, who so treacherously shot De Mouy, and was rewarded by the king for the deed. It is also said that a groom, in the livery of Guise, was holding the horse when the assassin issued out.
"Navarre and Conde have gone to Coligny. The king's surgeon is dressing his wounds."
As soon as Francois had finished his account of the attempted assassination of the Admiral, he and Philip sallied out, the latter having hastily armed himself.
"I must go back to the Louvre," Francois said, "and take my place by the King of Navarre. He is going to see the king, and to demand permission to leave Paris at once. Conde and La Rochefoucault are going to see the king, as soon as they return from the Admiral's, for the same purpose; as it is evident their lives are not safe here."
Philip made his way to the Admiral's house in the Rue de Bethisy. Numbers of Huguenot gentlemen were hurrying in that direction; all, like himself, armed, and deeply moved with grief and indignation; for Coligny was regarded with a deep affection, as well as reverence, by his followers. Each, as he overtook others, eagerly inquired the news; for as yet most of them had learned nothing beyond vague rumours of the affair.
Philip's account of it increased their indignation. So it was no act of a mere fanatic, but the work of the Guises, and probably of Catharine and Anjou.
In a short time between two and three hundred gentlemen were gathered in the courtyard and antechamber of Coligny's house. Some walked up and down, silent and stern. Others gathered in groups, and passionately discussed the matter. This was an attack not only upon the Admiral but upon the Huguenots in general. It was the work of the Guises, ever the deadliest foes of the Reformed faith--the authors of every measure taken against them, the cause of all the blood that had been shed in the civil wars.
One thing was certain: all must leave Paris, and prepare for a renewal of the war. But it was equally certain they could not leave until the Admiral was fit to be moved.
"Truly he is a saint," said one of the gentlemen, who had come down from the room where Coligny was lying. "He suffered atrociously in the hands of the surgeon, for he had come without his instruments, and amputated Coligny's fingers with a dagger so blunt that it was only on the third attempt that he succeeded. Merlin, his minister, was by his side, with several of his most intimate friends. We were in tears at the sight of our noble chief thus traitorously struck down. He turned to us and said calmly:
"'My friends, why do you weep? As for me, I deem myself happy at having thus received wounds for the sake of God.'
"Then he said that, most sincerely, he forgave the man who wounded him, and those who had instigated him to make the attack; knowing for certain that it was beyond their power to hurt him for, even should they kill him, death would be a certain passage to life."
An hour later Francois arrived.
"The prince has seen the king, Philip. He is furious, and has sworn that he will inflict the most signal punishment upon the authors and instigators of the crime: Coligny had received the wound, but he himself most felt the smart. The King of Navarre told me he was sure that Charles was deeply in earnest. He feels it in a threefold sense: first, because it is the renewal of the troubles that he had hoped had been put an end to; in the second place, because Coligny is his guest; and lastly, because he has the greatest respect and confidence in him, not only believing in his wisdom, but knowing that his counsel is always sincere and disinterested.
"He is coming to visit the Admiral himself, this afternoon, Philip. It is no use our staying here. There is nothing to be done, and no prospect of seeing the Admiral."
As they moved towards the entrance to the courtyard, the Count de Valecourt joined them.
"I have just left the Admiral," he said. "He is easier, and the king's surgeon is of opinion that he will recover from his wounds, and possibly may be fit to travel in a litter, in another week."
"That is good news, indeed," Francois said; "for the sooner we are all out of Paris, the better."
"There is no doubt of that," the count agreed; "but as all say that the king is furious at this attack upon the Admiral, I do not think the Guises dare strike another blow for some time. Still, I shall be glad, indeed, when we can set forth.
"It is certain we cannot leave the Admiral here. The villains who are responsible for the attempt will be furious at its failure, and next time they may use the weapon to which they are most accustomed--poison. Even if the king himself begged him to stay at the Louvre, until cured, Catharine de Medici is there; and I would not trust him under the same roof with her, for all my estates.
"We have been talking it over, and all agree that we must wait until he can be moved. Inconstant as Charles is, there can be no fear of a change in his friendly intentions now. He has already closed all the gates of Paris save two, and everyone who goes in or out is closely questioned, and has to show his papers."
By this time, they had arrived at the door of the count's dwelling.
"Come in, monsieur," he said. "My daughter is terribly upset at this attack upon the Admiral, for whom she has a profound reverence and, were she a Catholic, would, I doubt not, make him her patron saint."
"How is he, father?" Claire asked eagerly, as they entered the room.
"He is better, Claire. The king's physician thinks he has every chance of recovering."
"God be praised!" she said earnestly. "It would indeed have been a terrible day for us all, had the assassin taken his life; and it would have seemed a mark of Heaven's anger at this marriage of the Protestant king with a Catholic princess. What says King Charles?"
"He is as angry as any of us; and declares that the assassin, and those who abetted him, shall be punished in the severest manner. He has visited the Admiral, and expressed his grief and indignation to him."
"I shall be glad to be back in Dauphiny, father. This city, with its wickedness and its violence, is hateful to me."
"We shall go soon, dear. The doctor hopes that, in a week, the Admiral will be well enough to be moved in a litter; and we shall all accompany him."
"A week is a long time, father. So much may happen in a week."
"There is no fear of anything happening, Claire. You must not let this sad business affect your nerves. The anger of the king is so great that you may be sure none will attempt to repeat this stroke.
"What think you, Monsieur de Laville?"
"I agree with you altogether, count."
"And you, Monsieur Philip?"
"I see no cause for fear, count; and yet, I feel sure that it would be well to take every precaution. I acknowledge that I have no grounds whatever for my fear. I have been infected by my lackey, who is generally the lightest hearted and most reckless fellow; but who has now turned croaker, and fears a sudden rising of the mob of Paris, instigated thereto by the Guises."
"Has he heard anything to favour such an idea, or is it merely born of today's outrage?"
"No, I think he has heard nothing specific, though he may have caught up vague threats in wandering through the streets."
"Why, that is not like you," the count said, smiling, "who have been through so many fights and dangerous adventures, to be alarmed at a shadow."
"No, count, I do not think that I am given, any more than is my lackey, to sombre thoughts; but I own that he has infected me, and I would that some precautions could be taken."
"Precautions of what kind, Monsieur Philip?"
"I have not thought them out," Philip said; "but, were I the next in rank to the Admiral, I would enjoin that a third of our number should be under arms, night and day, and should at night patrol our quarters; secondly, that a rallying place should be appointed, say at the Admiral's, to which all should mount and ride, directly an alarm is given."
"The first part could hardly be managed, here," the count said gravely. "It would seem that we doubted the royal assurances of good faith, and his promises of protection. We have enemies enough about the king's ear, and such a proceeding would be surely misrepresented to him. You know how wayward are his moods, and that it would need but a slight thing to excite his irritation, and undo all the good that the Admiral has effected."
Two or three other Huguenot gentlemen now entered, and a general conversation on the state of affairs took place. Philip was standing a little apart from the others, when Claire came up to him.
"You really believe in danger, Monsieur Philip?"
"Frankly I do, mademoiselle. The population hate us. There have been Huguenot massacres over and over again in Paris. The Guises are doubtless the instigators of this attack on the Admiral. They are the idols of the Paris mob and, if they gave the word, it would at once rise against us. As I told your father, I have no real reason for uneasiness, but nevertheless I am uneasy."
"Then the danger must be real," the girl said simply. "Have you any advice to give me?"
"Only this. You have but a week to stay here in Paris. During that time, make excuses so as not to stir abroad in the streets more than you can help; and in the second place I would say, lie down in your clothes at night, so as to be in readiness to rise, instantly."
"I will do that," she said. "There is nothing else?"
"Nothing that I can think of. I hope and trust that the emergency will not come; but at any rate, until it does come, we can do no more."
A few minutes later, Philip and his cousin took their leave. The former went back to his lodgings, the latter to the Louvre. Philip was surprised at not finding Pierre, and sat up later than usual, expecting his return; but it was not till he was rising next morning that the man made his appearance.
"Why, where have you been all night?" Philip asked angrily. "This is not the time for pleasure."
"I have been outside the walls, master," Pierre said.
"What in the world did you go there for, Pierre?"
"Well, sir, I was here when Monsieur de Laville brought in the news of the shooting of the Admiral. This seemed, to me, to bear out all that I have said to you. You hurried away without my having time to speak to you, so I took it upon myself to act."
"In what way, Pierre?"
"I went straight to the stables, sir, and took one of your honour's chargers and my horse and, riding one and leading the other, passed out through the gate before the orders came about closing. I rode them to a village, six miles away; and put them up at a small inn there, and left them in the landlord's charge. I did not forget to tell the stable boy that he should have a crown for himself if, on my return, I found the horses in as good condition as I left them.
"Then I walked back to Paris, and found a crowd of people unable to enter, and learned that the gates had been closed by the king's order. I went off to Saint Denis, and there bought a long rope and an iron hook; and at two in the morning, when I thought that any sentries there might be on the walls would be drowsy, came back again to Paris, threw up my hook, and climbed into one of the bastions near the hut we had marked. There I slept until the morning, and now you see me.
"I have taken out the horses so that, should you be obliged to fly, there would be means of escape. One charger will suffice for your wants here, and to ride away upon if you go out with the Huguenot company, whether peacefully or by force of arms. As for me, I would make my way there on foot, get the horses, and rejoin you."
"It was a good idea, Pierre, and promptly carried out. But no one here has much thought of danger, and I feel ashamed of myself at being the only one to feel uneasy."
"The wise man is uneasy while the fool sleeps," Pierre said. "If the Prince of Conde had been uneasy, the night before Jarnac, he would not have lost his life, and we should not have lost a battle. No harm has been done. If danger does come, we at least are prepared for it."
"You are quite right, Pierre. However surely he may count upon victory, a good general always lays his plans in case of defeat. At any rate, we have prepared for everything."
Pierre muttered something to himself.
"What do you say, Pierre?"
"I was only saying, master, that I should feel pretty confident of our getting away, were there only our two selves to think of. What with our disguises, and what with your honour's strong arm--and what I can do to back you--and what with our being on our guard, it would be hard if we did not make our way safe off. But I foresee that, should there be trouble, it is not of your own safety you will be thinking."
"Mademoiselle de Valecourt is engaged to the Sieur de Pascal," Philip said gravely.
"So I heard, from one of the count's lackeys; but there is many a slip between the cup and the lip, and in such days as these there is many an engagement that never becomes a marriage. I guessed how it would be, that night after you had saved Mademoiselle Claire's life; and I thought so, still more, when we were staying at Valecourt."
"Then your thoughts ran too fast, Pierre. Mademoiselle de Valecourt is a great heiress; and the count should, of course, give her in marriage to one of his own rank."
Pierre shrugged his shoulders almost imperceptibly.
"Your honour is doubtless right," he said humbly; "and therefore, seeing that she has her father and Monsieur de Pascal to protect her, we need not trouble more about those articles of attire stowed away on the roof above; but shall be able to concern ourselves solely with our own safety, which puts a much better complexion on the affair."
"The whole matter is ridiculous, Pierre," Philip said angrily, "and I am a fool to have listened to you. There, go and see about breakfast, or I shall lose my patience with you, altogether."
There were several consultations, during the day, between the leading Huguenots. There was no apparent ground for suspicion that the attack upon the Admiral had been a part of any general plot, and it was believed that it was but the outcome of the animosity of the Guises, and the queen mother, against a man who had long withstood them, who was now higher than themselves in the king's confidence, and who had persuaded him to undertake an enterprise that would range France on the side of the Protestant powers. The balance of evidence is all in favour of the truth of this supposition, and to the effect that it was only upon the failure of their scheme, against the Admiral, that the conspirators determined upon a general massacre of the Huguenots.
They worked upon the weak king's mind, until they persuaded him that Coligny was at the head of a plot against himself; and that nothing short of his death, and those of his followers, could procure peace and quiet for France. At last, in a sudden access of fury, Charles not only ranged himself on their side, but astonished Catharine, Anjou, and their companions by going even farther than they had done, and declaring that every Huguenot should be killed. This sudden change, and his subsequent conduct during the few months that remained to him of life, seem to point to the fact that this fresh access of trouble shattered his weak brain, and that he was not fairly responsible for the events that followed--the guilt of which rests wholly upon Catharine de Medici, Henry of Anjou, and the leaders of the party of the Guises.
Philip spent a considerable portion of the day at the Louvre with Henry of Navarre, Francois de Laville, and a few of the young king's closest followers. There was no shadow of disquiet in the minds of any of them. The doctors reported that the Admiral's state was favourable; and although all would have been glad to be on their way south, they regarded the detention of a few days as a matter of little importance. Listening to their talk about the court entertainments and pleasures, Philip quite shook off his uneasiness, and was angry with himself for having listened to Pierre's prognostications of evil.
"All these Huguenot lords know France and the Parisians better than I do," he said to himself. "No thought of danger occurs to them. It is not even thought necessary that a few of them should take up their abode at the Admiral's. They have every faith in the king's protestations and pledges for their safety."
Philip dined at the Louvre, and it was ten o'clock before he returned to his lodging. He was in excellent spirits, and saluted Pierre with the laughing inquiry:
"Well, bird of ill omen, what fresh plottings have you discovered?"
"You do not believe me, master, when I tell you," Pierre said gravely.
"Oh, then, there is something new?" Philip said, seating himself on a couch. "Let me hear all about it, Pierre, and I will try not to laugh."
"Will you descend with me to the door, Monsieur Philip?"
"Assuredly I will, if it will please you; though what you are going to show me there, I cannot imagine."
Pierre led the way downstairs and out through the door.
"Do you see that, sir?"
"Yes, I see that, Pierre."
"What do you take it to be, sir?"
"Well, it is not too dark to see what it is, Pierre. It is a small white cross that some urchin has chalked on the door."
"Will you please to walk a little farther, sir? There is a cross on this door. There is none here, neither on the next. Here you see another, and then a door without one. Now, sir, does not that strike you as curious?"
"Well, I don't know, Pierre. A boy might very well chalk some doors, as he went along, and leave others untouched."
"Yes, sir. But there is one very remarkable thing. I have gone on through several streets, and it has always been the same--so far as I can discover by questioning the concierges--at every house in which Huguenots are lodging, there is a white cross on the door. In the houses that are not so marked, there are no Huguenots."
"That is strange, certainly, Pierre," Philip said, struck alike by the fact and by the earnestness with which Pierre expressed it. "Are you quite sure of what you say?"
"I am quite sure, sir. I returned here at nine o'clock, and saw this mark on our door. I did not pay much heed to it, but went upstairs. Then, as I thought it over, I said to myself, 'Is this a freak of some passerby, or is it some sort of signal?' Then I thought I would see whether our house alone was marked, or whether there were crosses on other doors. I went to the houses of several gentlemen of our party, and on each of their doors was a white cross. Then I looked farther, and found that other houses were unmarked. At some of these I knocked and asked for one or other of your friends. In each case I heard that I was mistaken, for that no Huguenots were lodging there."
That cross is placed there by design.
That cross is placed there by design.
"It is evident, sir, that this is not a thing of chance, but that these crosses are placed there by design."
Philip went down the street, and satisfied himself that Pierre had spoken correctly; and then returned to his lodgings, pausing, however, before the house of the Count de Valecourt, and erasing the cross upon it. He entered his own door without touching the mark; but Pierre, who followed him in, rubbed the sleeve of his doublet across it, unnoticed by his master, and then followed him upstairs.
Philip seated himself thoughtfully.
"I like not these marks, Pierre. There may be nothing of importance in them. Some fanatic may have taken the trouble to place these crosses upon our doors, cursing us as he did so. But at the same time, I cannot deny that they may have been placed there for some set purpose, of which I am ignorant. Hitherto there has been nothing, whatever, to give any foundation to your fancies; but here is at least something tangible, whatever it may mean. What is your own idea?"
"My own idea is, sir, that they intend to arrest all the Admiral's followers; and that the king, while speaking us fair, is really guided by Catharine, and has consented to her plans for the capture of all the Huguenot lords who have come into this trap."
"I cannot believe that such an act of black treachery can be contemplated, Pierre. All Europe would cry out against the king who, inviting numbers of his nobles to the marriage of his sister, seized that occasion for imprisoning them."
"It may not be done by him, sir. It may be the work of the Guises' agents among the mob of Paris; and that they intend to massacre us, as they did at Rouen and a score of other places, and as they have done here in Paris more than once."
"That is as hard to believe as the other, Pierre. My own supposition is by far the most probable, that it is the work of some fanatic; but at any rate, we will be on the watch tonight. It is too late to do anything else and, were I to go round to our friends, they would mock at me for paying any attention to such a trifle as a chalk mark on a door.
"I own that I think it serious, because I have come, in spite of my reason, to believe somewhat in your forebodings; but no one else seems to entertain any such fears."
Opening the casement, Philip seated himself there.
"Do you lie down, Pierre. At two o'clock I will call you, and you shall take my place."
Pierre went out, but before lying down he again went quietly downstairs and, with a wet cloth, entirely erased the mark from the door; and then, placing his sword and his pistols ready at hand, lay down on his pallet. At one o'clock Philip aroused him.
"There is something unusual going on, Pierre. I can see a light in the sky, as of many torches; and can hear a confused sound, as of the murmur of men. I will sally out and see what it is."
Placing his pistols in his belt and taking his sword, he wrapped himself in his cloak and, followed by Pierre, also armed, went down into the street. As he went along he overtook two men. As he passed under a lamp, one of them exclaimed:
"Is that you, Monsieur Fletcher?"
He turned. It was the Sieur de Pascal.
"It is I, Monsieur de Pascal. I was going out to learn the meaning of those lights over there."
"That is just what I am doing, myself. As the night is hot, I could not sleep; so I threw open my window, and saw those lights, which were, as it appeared to me, somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Admiral's house; and I thought it was as well to see what they meant."
As they went along, they came upon men with lighted torches; and saw that, in several of the streets, groups of men with torches were silently standing.
"What is taking place?" the Sieur de Pascal asked one of the men.
"There is going to be a night masque, and a mock combat at the Louvre," the man said.
"It is strange. I heard nothing about it at the Louvre," Philip said, as they proceeded on their way. "I was with the King of Navarre up to ten o'clock and, had anything been known of it by him or the gentlemen with him, I should have been sure to have heard of it."
They were joined by two or three other Huguenot gentlemen, roused by the unusual light and talking in the street; and they proceeded together to the Louvre. Large numbers of torches were burning in front of the palace, and a body of soldiers was drawn up there.
"The man was right," the Sieur de Pascal said. "There is evidently some diversion going on here."
As they approached they saw a movement in front, and then three or four men ran towards them.
"Why, De Vignes," De Pascal exclaimed, as the first ran up, "what is the matter?"
"That I do not know," De Vignes said. "I was roused half an hour ago by the lights and noise, and came down with De la Riviere, Maurepas, Castellon, and De Vigors, who lodges with me, to see what it was about. As we approached the soldiers, they began to jeer at us in a most insolent manner. Naturally we replied, and threatened to report them to their officers; when the insolent varlets drew and ran at us. Maurepas has, as you see, been wounded by a halbert; and as we five could not give battle to that crowd of soldiers, we ran for it. I shall lay the matter before La Rochefoucauld, and request him to make a complaint to the king. What can we do now, gentlemen?"
"I see not that we can do anything," De Pascal said. "We have heard that these torchlight gatherings are part of a plan for a sham attack on a castle, or something of that sort, for the amusement of the king. Doubtless the soldiers are gathered for that purpose. We cannot arouse La Rochefoucauld, at this hour of the night, that is certain; so I see nothing to do but to go home, and wait till morning."
"You do not think," Philip said, "that there is any possibility of a general attack upon us being intended?"
"What! An attack got up at the Louvre, under the very eyes of the king, who is our firm friend? You are dreaming, Monsieur Fletcher."
"I have one suspicious fact to go upon," Philip said quietly, and then related the discovery of the crosses upon the doors.
The others, however, were absolutely incredulous that any treachery could be intended and, after talking for a short time, longer, they returned to their lodgings.
"What is to be done now, Pierre?"
"I should say we had better search farther, sir. If there is any harm intended, the mob of Paris will be stirring. Let us go down towards the Hotel de Ville; that is always the centre of mischief. If all is quiet there, it may be that this story is correct, and that it is really only a court diversion. But that does not explain why the streets should be lighted up near the Admiral's."
"It does not, Pierre."
After they had passed another group of men with torches, Pierre said:
"Did you notice, sir, that each of those men had a piece of white stuff bound round his arm, and that it was the same with those we passed before? If there is any mischief intended, we should be more likely to learn what it is if we were to put on the same badge."
"The idea is a good one, Pierre;" and Philip took out his handkerchief, tore it in two and, handing half of it to Pierre, fastened the other round his arm.
As they went along, they met men with torches or lanterns, moving in the same direction as themselves. All wore white handkerchiefs or scarves round their arms.
Philip became more and more anxious as they went on, and regretted that he had not returned to his lodgings and renewed his watch there. However, a few minutes' walking took them to the Hotel de Ville. The square in front of the building was faintly illuminated by a few torches, here and there, and by large cressets that blazed in front of the Hotel. The light, however, was sufficient to show a dense body of men drawn up in the square, and the ruddy light of the flames flashed from helmet, lance point, and axe.
"What think you now, Monsieur Philip? There must be eight or ten thousand men here. I should say all the city bands, under their captains."
As they paused, a citizen officer came up to them.
"All is ready, your excellency. I do not think that a man is absent from his post. The orders remain unchanged, I suppose?"
"Quite unchanged," Philip said briefly, seeing that in the faint light he was mistaken for someone else.
"And the bell is to be the signal for beginning?"
"I believe there has been a change in that respect," Philip said; "but you will hear that later on. I am only here to see that all is in readiness."
"Everything has been done as ordered, your excellency. The gates are closed, and will not be opened except to one bearing special orders, under the king's own seal. The boats have all been removed from the wharves. There will be no escape."
Philip repressed a strong impulse to run the man through the body, and only said:
"Good. Your zeal will not be forgotten."
Then he turned and walked away. They had gone but a few paces when, in the distance, the report of a pistol was heard.
"Too late!" he exclaimed, in passionate regret.
"Come, Pierre," and he broke into a rapid run.
Several times groups of men came out from bye-streets at the sound of the rapid footsteps, but Philip exclaimed:
"Away there! I am on urgent business for Anjou and Guise."
The men fell back at once, in each case, not doubting from the badges on the arms, which they could make out in the darkness, that Philip was bearing some important order.
"To the Admiral's, first," he said to Pierre. "It is there they will surely begin."
But as they entered the Rue de Bethisy, he saw a number of men pouring out from the Admiral's house, with drawn swords and waving their torches over their heads. By the light, Philip could make out Henri of Guise and Henry of Valois, with their attendants and soldiers.
"We are too late here, Pierre. The Admiral has doubtless been murdered. His confidence in the king's word has undone him."
Coligny, indeed, had refused the offer of many Protestant gentlemen to spend the night in the house; and even Teligny, his son-in-law, had gone to his own lodgings a short distance away. He had with him only his chaplain Merlin, the king's surgeon, three gentlemen and four or five servants; while in the court below were five of the King of Navarre's Swiss guards.
The Admiral had been awakened by the increasing noise without, but entertained no alarm whatever. Suddenly a loud knocking was heard at the outer gate, and a demand for entrance, in the king's name.
The Admiral directed one of the gentlemen, named Le Bonne, to go down and unbar the gate. As he did so, Cosseins, an officer of Anjou's household rushed in, followed by fifty soldiers, and stabbed Le Bonne to the heart. The soldiers had been despatched by the king, himself, under pretence of guarding the Huguenots; and twelve hundred arquebusiers had also been posted, under the same pretext, in the neighbourhood.
The faithful Swiss defended the inner door and, when driven back, defended for a time a barricade hastily thrown up on the stairs. One of the Huguenot gentlemen rushed into the Admiral's room, with the news that the gate had been forced. The Admiral calmly replied:
"I have kept myself for a long time in readiness for death. Save yourselves, if you can. It would be hopeless for you to attempt to save my life."
In obedience to his orders, all who were with him, save a German interpreter, fled to the roof and made their escape in the darkness. The barricade was carried, and a German named Besme, a follower of the Duke of Guise, was the first to rush into the Admiral's room. Coligny was calmly seated in a chair, and Besme struck him two blows with his sword, while those following despatched him.
Guise was waiting in the courtyard below. When he heard that the Admiral was killed, he ordered the body to be thrown out of the window. When he recognized that it was indeed the body of the Admiral, he gave it a brutal kick, while one of his followers cut off the head; and then Guise called upon the soldiers to follow him, saying:
"We have begun well. Let us now see to the others, for so the king commands."
As Philip turned from the spot, the bell of the church of Saint Germain l'Auxerrois peeled forth, and shouts instantly rose from all quarters. As he reached the street in which he lodged, Philip saw that it was already half full of armed men, who were shouting "Death to the Huguenots!" and were hammering at many of the doors.
He fell at once into a walk, and made his way through them unmolested, the white badge on his arm seeming to guarantee that he was a friend. He passed his own door, and made for that of the Count de Valecourt. A combat was going on in front of it and, by the light of the torches, Philip saw De Pascal defending himself bravely against a host of enemies. Sword in hand, Philip sprang forward. But before he could make his way through the soldiers, a musket shot rang out, and De Pascal fell dead.
Philip drew back.
"To our own house, Pierre," he exclaimed to his lackey, who was keeping close behind him; "we can do nothing here, and the door may resist for a few minutes."
There was no one in front of the entrance, though at all the doors marked with a white cross the soldiers were hammering with the butts of their arquebuses. They slipped in, pushed the bars across, ran upstairs and made their way on to the roof, and climbed along it until they reached the window of the house in which De Valecourt lodged; felt their way across the room till they discovered the door, issued out and, as soon as they found the staircase, ran down.
Already there was a turmoil below. A light streamed out from a door of the count's apartments on the first floor. Philip ran in. Claire de Valecourt was standing with one hand resting on the table, deadly pale, but quiet. She was fully dressed.
"Where is your father?" Philip exclaimed.
"He has gone down with the servants to hold the stairs."
"I will join him," Philip said. "Pierre will take care of you. He knows what to do. We will follow you. Quick, for your own sake and your father's."
"I cannot go and leave him."
"You will do him no good by staying, and delay may cost us all our lives. You must go at once. If you do not, at the risk of your displeasure, I must carry you."
"I will go," she said. "You saved me before, and I trust you."
"Trust Pierre as you would trust me," he said.
"Now, Pierre, take her hand and hurry her upstairs."
The clash of swords, mingled with shouts and oaths, were heard below; and Philip, as he saw Pierre turn with Claire de Valecourt, ran down. On the next landing the count, with four serving men, was defending himself against the assault of a crowd of armed men, who were pushing up the staircase. Others behind them held torches, while some of those engaged in the fray held a torch in one hand, and a sword in the other.
"Ah, is it you, Monsieur Fletcher?" the count said, as Philip placed himself beside him, felling one of the foremost of the assailants, as he did so, with a sweeping blow.
"It is I, count. My house is not attacked, and I have sent off your daughter, in charge of my man, to gain it along the roofs. We will follow them, as soon as we can beat back these villains."
"The king's troops must arrive shortly," the count said.
"The king's troops are here," Philip said. "This is done by his orders, and all Paris is in arms. The Admiral has already been murdered."
The count gave a cry of fury, and threw himself upon his assailants. His companions did the same and, step by step, drove them backward down the stairs.
There was a cry below of "Shoot them down!" and, a moment later, three or four arquebuses flashed out from the hall. The count, without a word, pitched forward among the soldiers; and two of the retainers also fell. Then the crowd surged up again.
Philip fought desperately for a time. Another shot rang out, and he felt a sudden smart across his cheek. He turned and bounded up the stairs, paused a moment at the top, and discharged his two pistols at the leaders of the assailants; pulled to the door of the count's chamber, leaving the corridor in darkness, and then sprang up the stairs. When he reached the door of the unused room by which they had entered, he fastened it behind him, got through the window and closed it after him, and then rapidly made his way along the roofs, until he reached his own. Closing and fastening the casement, he ran down to his room.
Claire was standing there, with Pierre by her side. She gave a low cry as he entered, alone.
"My father!" she exclaimed.
"God has taken him," Philip said, "as He has taken many others tonight. He died painlessly, mademoiselle, by a shot from below."
Claire sank into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
"His will be done," she said, in a low but firm voice, as she looked up a minute later. "We are all in His hands, and can die but once. Will they soon come?"
"I trust not," Philip said. "They may follow along the roof, when they cannot find us in any of the rooms; but they will have no clue as to which house we have entered."
"I will remain here and wait for them," she said.
"Then, mademoiselle, you will sacrifice our lives, as well as your own; for assuredly we shall not leave you. Thus far we have escaped and, if you will follow my directions, we may all escape together. Still, if you wish it, we can die here together."
"What is to be done?" she asked, standing up.
Pierre handed Philip a bundle.
"I brought them down as I passed," he said.
"This is a disguise," Philip said, handing it to the girl. "I pray you to put it on, at once. We also have disguises, and will return in them, in a few minutes."
"This is awful, Pierre," Philip said, as he hurriedly assumed the disguise the latter had prepared.
The clamour outside was indeed terrible. The bell of Saint Germain l'Auxerrois was still sounding its signal, but mingled with it were a thousand sounds of combat and massacre, the battering of hammers and axes upon doors, the discharges of arquebuses and pistols, the shouts of men and the loud screams of women.
Pierre glanced out of the window. With the soldiers were mingled a crowd from the slums of Paris; who, scenting carnage from the movements of the citizen troops, had waited in readiness to gather the spoil; and had arrived on the spot, as if by magic, as soon as the first signal of alarm told them that the work of slaughter had begun.
"Can we get out behind, think you, Pierre?" Philip asked, as he joined him.
"I will see, sir. One could scarce sally out, here, without being at once seized and questioned. Doubtless a watch was placed in the rear, at first; but the soldiers would be likely to make off, to join in the massacre and get their share of plunder, as soon as the affair began.
"You will do, sir, as far as the dress goes; but you must smear your face and arms. They are far too white, at present, and would be instantly noticed."
Philip rubbed his hands, blackened by his passage across the roofs, over his face and arms; and then joined Claire, who started, as he entered.
"I did not know you," she said. "Come; are we ready? It were surely better to die at once, than to listen to these dreadful sounds."
"One moment. Pierre will return directly. He has gone to see whether the lane behind the houses is clear. Once fairly away, and our course will be easier."
Pierre returned almost immediately.
"The way is clear."
"Let us go, then, mademoiselle."
"One moment, monsieur. Let us pray before we start. We may have no time, there."
And, standing with upturned face, she prayed earnestly for protection.
"Lead us, O God," she concluded, "through the strife and turmoil; as Thou didst the holy men of old, through the dangers of the lions and the furnace. But if it be Thy will that we should die, then do we commend our souls to Thee; in the sure faith that we are but passing through death into life.
"Now I am ready," she said, turning to Philip.
"You cannot go like this, Mademoiselle Claire," Pierre said reverently. "Of what good would that disguise be to you, when your face would betray you in the darkest street? You must ruffle your hair, and pull that hood over your face, so as to hide it as much as possible."
The girl walked across to a mirror.