After their return from hunting, they remained for another
fortnight at Bearn; and then started, the countess and Francois to
return home, and Philip to pay a visit to the Count de Valecourt,
at his chateau in Dauphiny, in accordance with the promise he had
given him to visit him on his return to France. Here he remained
for a month. The count treated him with the warmest hospitality,
and introduced him to all his friends as the saviour of his
daughter.
Claire had grown much since he had seen her, when he had ridden
over with her father to Landres, a year before. She was now nearly
sixteen, and was fast growing into womanhood.
Philip was already acquainted with many of the nobles and gentry of
Dauphiny who had joined the Admiral's army and, after leaving
Valecourt, he stayed for a short time at several of their chateaux;
and it was autumn before he joined Francois at Laville. The
inhabited portion of the chateau had been enlarged and made more
comfortable, for the king was still firm in his decision that peace
should be preserved, and showed marked favour to the section of the
court that opposed any persecution of the Huguenots. He had further
shown his desire for the friendship of the Protestant powers by the
negotiations that had been carried on for the marriage of the Duke
of Anjou to Queen Elizabeth.
"I have news for you," Francois said. "The king has invited the
Admiral to visit him. It has, of course, been a matter of great
debate whether Coligny should trust himself at court, many of his
friends strongly dissuading him; but he deems it best, in the
interests of our religion, that he should accept the invitation;
and he is going to set out next week for Blois, where the king now
is with the court. He will take only a few of his friends with him.
He is perfectly aware of the risk he runs but, to those who entreat
him not to trust himself at court, he says his going there may be a
benefit to the cause, and that his life is as nothing in the scale.
However, he has declined the offers that have been made by many
gentlemen to accompany him, and only three or four of his personal
friends ride with him."
"No doubt he acts wisely, there," Philip said. "It would be
well-nigh destruction to our cause, should anything befall him now;
and the fewer of our leaders in Charles's hands, the less
temptation to the court to seize them.
"But I do think it possible that good may come of Coligny, himself,
going there. He exercises wonderful influence over all who come in
contact with him, and he may be able to counterbalance the
intrigues of the Catholic party, and confirm the king in his
present good intentions towards us."
"I saw him two days ago, and offered to ride in his train,"
Francois said; "but he refused, decidedly, to let me.
"'The friends who will accompany me,' he said, 'have, like myself,
well-nigh done their work. The future is for you and those who are
young. I cannot dream that the king would do wrong to invited
guests; but should aught happen, the blow shall fall upon none of
those who should be the leaders of the next generation.'"
The news of the reception of the Admiral, at Blois, was anxiously
awaited by the Huguenots of the west; and there was great joy when
they heard that he had been received most graciously by the king,
who had embraced him, and protested that he regarded it as one of
the happiest days in his life; as he saw, in his return to his
side, the end of trouble and an assurance of future tranquillity.
Even Catharine de Medici received the Admiral with warmth. The king
presented him, from his private purse, with the large sum of a
hundred thousand livres; to make good some of the great losses he
had suffered in the war. He also ordered that he should receive,
for a year, the revenues of his brother the cardinal, who had
lately died; and appointed him guardian of one of the great
estates, during the minority of its heir--a post which brought with
it considerable profits.
At Coligny's suggestion, Charles wrote to the Duke of Savoy
interceding for the Waldenses, who were being persecuted cruelly
for having assisted the Huguenots of France.
So angered were the Guises, by the favour with which the king
treated the Admiral, that they retired from court; and the king was
thus left entirely to the influence of Montmorency and Coligny. The
ambassador of Spain, who was further angered by Charles granting
interviews to Louis of Nassau, and by his holding out hopes to the
Dutch of assistance in their struggle against Alva, also left
France in deep dudgeon, and with threats of war.
The result was, naturally, to cause a better state of feeling
throughout France. Persecutions everywhere ceased; and the
Huguenots, for the first time for many years, were able to live in
peace, and without fear of their neighbours.
The negotiations for the marriage between the Prince of Navarre and
Marguerite de Valois continued. The prince was now eighteen and a
half, and the princess twenty. The idea of a marriage between them
was of old standing, for it had been proposed by Henry the Second,
fifteen years before; but at the outbreak of the Huguenot troubles
it had been dropped. Marshal Biron was sent by the king with the
royal proposals to the Queen of Navarre, who was now at La
Rochelle. The queen expressed her gratitude for the honour offered
to her son, but prayed for time before giving a decided answer, in
order that she might consult the ministers of her religion as to
whether such a marriage might be entered into, by one of the
Reformed religion.
The news of the proposed marriage, and also of the negotiations
that had been opened for a marriage between Elizabeth of England
and the Duc d'Alencon, created the greatest alarm throughout the
Catholic world. A legate was sent to Charles by the pope, to
protest against it. Sebastian, King of Portugal, who had refused
the hand of Marguerite when it had before been offered to him,
reopened negotiations for it; while Philip of Spain did all in his
power to throw obstacles in the way of the match.
The ministers of the Reformed religion, consulted by the queen,
considered that the marriage of Henry to Marguerite would be of
vast benefit to the Huguenot cause; and declared that a mixed
marriage was lawful. The English ambassador gave his strongest
support to it, and the Queen of Navarre now entered upon the
negotiations in earnest, and went to Blois for the purpose.
The differences were entirely religious ones, the court insisting
that Henri, while living at Paris with his wife, should consent to
be deprived of all means of worshipping according to his own
religion; while Marguerite, while in Bearn, should be guaranteed
permission to have mass celebrated there. The king would have been
ready to waive both conditions; but Catherine who, after at first
favouring the match, now threw every obstacle in its way, was
opposed to any conclusion. She refused to permit the Queen of
Navarre to have any interview with either Charles or Marguerite,
unless she was also present; and hesitated at no falsehoods,
however outrageous, in order to thwart the efforts of Jeanne and
her friends.
The pious queen, however, was more troubled by the extreme and open
profligacy of the court than by the political difficulties she
encountered and, in her letters, implored her son to insist upon
residing at Bearn with his wife, and on no account to take up his
abode at Paris.
However, at last the difficulties were removed. The court abandoned
its demand that Marguerite should be allowed to attend mass at
Bearn; and the Queen of Navarre, on her part, consented that the
marriage should take place at Paris, instead of at Bearn as she had
before desired.
She then went to Paris to make preparations for the wedding. The
great anxiety she had gone through told heavily upon her, and a few
days after her arrival at the capital she was seized with a fever
which, in a very short time, terminated her life; not without
considerable suspicions being entertained that her illness and
death had been caused by poison, administered by an agent of
Catherine. She was, undoubtedly, one of the noblest women of her
own or any other time. She was deeply religious, ready to incur all
dangers for the sake of her faith, simple in her habits, pure in
her life, unconquerable in spirit, calm and confident in defeat and
danger, never doubting for a moment that God would give victory to
his cause, and capable of communicating her enthusiasm to all
around her--a Christian heroine, indeed. Her death was a terrible
blow to the Reformed religion. She died on the 9th of June, and the
marriage was, in consequence, deferred until August.
The Admiral had not been present at Blois during the negotiations
for the marriage, for after remaining there for three weeks he had
retired to his estate at Chatillon, where he occupied himself with
the work of restoring his ruined chateau.
The Countess Amelie had accompanied the Queen of Navarre to Blois,
and also to Paris, and had been with her at the time she died. She
had sent a message to Francois and Philip to join her there, when
she left Blois; accompanying her letter with a safe conduct signed
by the king. On the road they were met by the news of the death of
the Queen of Navarre. It was a severe blow to both of them, not
only from the effect it would have upon the Huguenot cause, but
from the affection they personally felt for her.
The king, being grievously harassed by the opposite counsels he
received, and his doubts as to which of his advisers were honest,
wrote to Coligny; begging him to come and aid him, with his counsel
and support.
The Admiral received many letters imploring him not to go to Paris;
where, even if the friendship of the king continued, he would be
exposed to the danger of poison, to which, it was generally
believed, his brothers and the Queen of Navarre had succumbed; but
although fully aware of the danger of the step, he did not
hesitate. To one of his advisers he wrote fearlessly:
"As a royal officer, I cannot in honour refuse to comply with the
summons of the king; but will commit myself to the providence of
Him who holds in His hands the hearts of kings and princes, and has
numbered my years, nay, the very hairs of my head."
One reason of the king's desire for the counsels of the Admiral was
that he had determined to carry out his advice, and that of Louis
of Nassau, to assist the Protestants of Holland, and to embark in a
struggle against the dangerous predominance of Spain. As a first
step, he had already permitted Louis of Nassau to recruit secretly,
in France, five hundred horse and a thousand infantry from among
his Huguenot friends, and to advance with them into the
Netherlands; and with these Louis had, on the 24th of May, captured
Mons, the capital of Hainault.
The Huguenot leaders did their best to persuade Charles to follow
up this stroke by declaring war against Spain; and the king would
have done so, had it not been that Elizabeth of England, who had
before urged him to this course, promising him her aid, now drew
back with her usual vacillation; wishing nothing better than to see
France and Spain engaged in hostilities from which she would,
without trouble or expense, gain advantage. Meanwhile Catharine,
Anjou and the Guise faction all did their best to counteract the
influence of the Huguenots.
Elizabeth's crafty and hesitating policy was largely responsible
for the terrible events that followed. Charles saw that she had
been fooling him, both in reference to his course towards Spain and
in her negotiations for a marriage with one or other of his
brothers. These matters were taken advantage of by his Catholic
advisers, and disposed him to doubt the wisdom of his having placed
himself in the hands of the Huguenots.
While Elizabeth was hesitating, a blow came that confirmed the king
in his doubts as to the prudence of the course he had taken. Alva
laid siege to Mons. A Huguenot force of some three thousand men,
led by the Sieur de Genlis, marched to its relief; but was
surprised, and utterly routed, within a short distance of the
town--1200 were killed on the field of battle, some 1900 fugitives
were slain by the peasantry, barely a hundred reached Mons.
Coligny, who was preparing a much larger force for the assistance
of Louis of Nassau, still strove to induce the king to throw
himself heart and soul into the struggle against Spain; and even
warned him that he would never be a true king, until he could free
himself from his mother's control and the influence of his brother
Anjou.
The queen mother, who had spies everywhere, was not long in
learning that Coligny had given this advice, and her hatred against
him was proportionately increased. She at once went in tears to
Charles, and pointed out to him that it was to her counsel and aid,
alone, that he had owed his success against the Huguenots; that
they were now obtaining all the advantages for which they had
fought, in vain; and that he was endangering the safety of his
throne by angering Spain, relying only on the empty promises of the
faithless Queen of England.
Charles, always weak and irresolute, succumbed at once to her tears
and entreaties, and gave himself up altogether to her pernicious
counsels.
After the death of the Queen of Navarre the countess travelled back
to Laville, escorted by her son and Philip. The young men made no
stay there, but returned at once to Paris where, now that Coligny
was in the king's counsels, there was no ground for fear, and the
approaching nuptials of the young King of Navarre would be attended
by large numbers of his adherents. They took a lodging near that
occupied by the Admiral.
De la Noue was not at court, he being shut up in Mons, having
accompanied Louis of Nassau in his expedition. The court was in
deep mourning for the Queen of Navarre, and there would be no
public gaieties until the wedding. Among the Huguenot lords who had
come to Paris were the Count de Valecourt and his daughter, who was
now seventeen, and had several suitors for her hand among the young
Huguenot nobles.
Francois and Philip were both presented to the king by the Admiral.
Charles received them graciously and, learning that they had been
stopping at Bearn with the Prince of Navarre, presented them to his
sister Margaret.
"These gentlemen, Margot, are friends of the King of Navarre, and
will be able to tell you more about him than these grave
politicians can do."
The princess, who was one of the most beautiful women of her time,
asked them many questions about her future husband, of whom she had
seen so little since his childhood, and about the place where she
was to live; and after that time, when they went to court with the
Admiral, who on such occasions was always accompanied by a number
of Huguenot gentlemen, the young princess always showed them marked
friendliness.
As the time for the marriage approached, the king became more and
more estranged from the Admiral. Queen Elizabeth, while professing
her friendship for the Netherlands, had forbidden English
volunteers to sail to the assistance of the Dutch; and had written
to Alva offering, in token of her friendship, to hand over Flushing
to the Spaniards. This proof of her duplicity, and of the
impossibility of trusting her as an ally, was made the most of by
Catherine; and she easily persuaded the weak-minded king that
hostilities with the Spaniards would be fatal to him, and that,
should he yield to the Admiral's entreaties, he would fall wholly
into the power of the Huguenots. The change in the king's
deportment was so visible that the Catholics did not conceal their
exultation, while a feeling of uneasiness spread among some of the
Huguenot gentlemen at Paris.
"What are you doing, Pierre!" Philip said one day, when he found
his servant occupied in cleaning up the two pairs of heavy pistols
they carried in their holsters.
"I am getting them ready for action, master. I always thought that
the Huguenots were fools to put their heads into this cage; and the
more I see of it, the less I like it."
"There can be no reason for uneasiness, Pierre. The king himself
has, over and over, declared his determination to maintain the
truce and, even did he harbour ill designs against us, he would not
mar his sister's marriage by fresh steps against the Huguenots.
What may follow, after we have all left Paris, I cannot say."
"Well, sir, I hope it may be all right, but since I got a sight of
the king's face the other day, I have no faith in him; he looks
like one worried until well nigh out of his senses--and no wonder.
These weak men, when they become desperate, are capable of the most
terrible actions. A month since he would have hung up his mother
and Anjou, had they ventured to oppose him; and there is no saying,
now, upon whom his wrath may fall.
"At any rate, sir, with your permission I mean to be prepared for
the worst; and the first work is to clean these pistols."
"There can be no harm in that anyhow, Pierre, but I have no shadow
of fear of any trouble occurring. The one thing I am afraid of is
that the king will keep Coligny near him, so that if war should
break out again, we shall not have him for our general. With the
Queen of Navarre dead, the Admiral a prisoner here, and De la Noue
a captive in the hands of Alva, we should fight under terrible
disadvantages; especially as La Rochelle, La Charite, and Montauban
have received royal governors, in accordance with the conditions of
the peace."
"Well, we shall see, master. I shall feel more comfortable if I
have got ready for the worst."
Although Philip laughed at the fears of Pierre, he was yet
impressed by what he had said; for he had come to rely very much
upon the shrewdness of observation of his follower. When, however,
he went that evening to the Count de Valecourt's, he saw that there
was no tinge of such feeling in the minds of the Huguenots present.
The only face that had an unusual look was that of Claire.
Apparently she was gayer than usual, and laughed and talked more
than was her wont; but Philip saw that this mood was not a natural
one, and felt sure that something had happened. Presently, when he
passed near her, she made room for him on the settee beside her.
[Illustration: 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."