'I wish that you were less of a fanatic. Fanaticism is folly.' He looked at her sharply. 'Who has been counselling you?'

'No one. To whose counsel do you think I would listen? I am sickened by this strife between Huguenots and Catholics.'

'Not long ago you were a firm Catholic. Has this marriage of yours anything to do with the change?'

'I am still a firm Catholic, and my marriage has not changed me in the least.'

'Are you sure of that? It seems to me that you do not view your husband with the same disfavour.'

'What is the use now that I am married to him? You are jealous?'

'Maddeningly. What do you imagine my feelings have been these last days and nights?'

'Ah!' sighed Margot. 'It was when I looked at you that I could not make the responses.'

'I know.'

'Henry, do something for me.'

'Anything in the world.'

'Then stop this baiting of Huguenots. Let us be peaceful for a change. That stupid masque of the Three Worlds, and that one in which you made my husband and Conde Turks and my brothers Amazons to beat them in battle . . . in such you go too far. All remembered how the Turks were beaten at Lepanto, and they knew what insults you intended to convey. It is tasteless and inelegant.'

'Marriage has made you tender to these Huguenots.'

'Huguenots! Catholics! Let us think of something else. But you cannot, can you? Even now when you talk to me, talk of love, your thoughts are elsewhere. Do I not know it? What are you thinking of? What are you hatching?'

She had moved closer to him and as she looked up into his brilliant eyes, just for a second she saw distrust in them. They had been passionate lovers; but although he desired her as she desired him, he would not trust her with his secrets, for now she was the wife of a Huguenot, and nothing-desire, passion, love-could make him forget that the Huguenots were his bitterest enemies.

'I am thinking of you,' he said.

She laughed, a trifle scornfully. Still, he was very handsome and to be near him was to realize afresh his charms; his vitality matched that of her husband, but how different he was. He was beautiful, elegant; he moved with grace; his manners were perfect; he was skilled in chivalry. How could she compare such a man with her coarse provincial husband, quick-witted and amusing though he might be? Henry of Guise and Henry of Navarre! As well compare an eagle with a crow, a swan with a duck. Henry of Guise was serious; Henry of Navarre careless. Henry of Guise looked for greatness and honour; Henry of Navarre for women to give him pleasure. I cannot be blamed for loving Henry of Guise, thought Margot.

'I must see you alone,' she said.

'Why yes,' he answered, but his eyes had strayed beyond her, and she noticed that they had settled on someone in the crowd about the door of the hall. Angry jealousy beset her; but it was quickly turned into curiosity, for it was not a woman at whom he looked but a man whom she recognized as one of his old tutors, the Chanoine de Villemur.

The Chanoine's eyes met those of Guise, and the two men exchanged glances which seemed to Margot full of meaning. 'Well,' she demanded, 'when?'

'Margot,' he said, 'I will see you later. I must have a word with the old man over there. Later, my darling . .

She stood angrily watching him as he went across the hall. She saw him pause and mutter something to the old man before the two of them were lost in the crowd; but a few seconds later she saw the old man alone, saw him hesitate for a while and then slip quietly out of the hall; but although she looked for Henry of Guise she could not see him.

How dared he! He had made an excuse to leave her. Doubtless he had some assignation with a woman. That she would not endure. She looked about her and was faintly relieved to see Charlotte de Sauves chatting animatedly with Henry of Navarre.

When Henry of Guise left the Louvre he went hurriedly to the house of the Chanoine de Villemur, which was situated nearby in a narrow street leading to the Rue Bethisy, where Coligny had his house.

Guise let himself into the house, shut the door quietly behind him and mounted the wooden staircase.

In a candlelit room several members of his family were waiting for him; among these were his brothers, the Duke of Mayenne and the Cardinal of Guise, and his, uncle, the Duke of Aumale. There was a stranger with them, a dark, swarthy man, whose appearance suggested that he had recently undertaken a long journey.

'Toshingi has arrived,' said Mayenne, pushing the man forward.

Toshingi knelt and kissed the hand of the young Duke. 'Welcome,' said Guise. 'Did any see you enter Paris?' 'None, sir. I came disguised and in the dark.'

'You know what is expected of you?' asked Guise.

'We have told him,' said the Cardinal, 'that his victim is a man of some importance.'

'That is so,' said Guise. 'I will tell you more. The man you must kill is Gaspard de Coligny. Have you the stomach for the deed?'

'I have stomach for any deed you should command me to do, sir.

'That is well. We are making careful provisions for your escape.'

'I thank you, sir.'

'The shooting will not take place from this house. Next door there is an empty house. If you wait at one of the lower windows you will catch him as he passes through the street on his way to the Rue Bethisy. It is imperative that you do not miss.'

'Sir, you know my reputation.'

'There is not a better marksman in Paris,' said Mayenne. 'We have the utmost confidence in you, Toshingi.'

'Thank you, sir. I shall see that it is deserved.'

'A horse will be saddled ready for you in the Chanoine's stables. Immediately after firing the shot you must, with all speed, make your way to the back of the house, over the low wall and into the stables. Now, let us go through to the empty house. Let us make sure that everything is in order so that nothing can stand in the way of our success.'

The small party descended the wooden staircase and went into the empty house next door.

The council meeting was over and the King wished for a game of tennis.

'Walk with me, Father,' he said to Coligny. 'Walk with me to the tennis court, and then go home and rest, for you are tired. Guise and Teligny will join me in a game, will you not, my friends?'

Both Guise and Teligny expressed their delight to share a game with the King.

A group of gentlemen accompanied them to the courts and, after watching the game for a while, Coligny expressed his intention of returning to the house in the Rue Bethisy. Some dozen of his followers left with him Gaspard only vaguely heard their conversation as they walked behind him; he himself was in no mood for talk; the King, he guessed, was ready to grant his requests, but there were many of the councillors who were against him. He remembered the masques and ballets with their mockery of the Huguenots. It was clear enough that the new friendship which the Catholics in Paris had feigned to feel for the Huguenots during the celebrations of these nuptials, was an entirely false friendship.

He began to read one of the papers in his hand; he had moved a little ahead of his friends and was deep in the study of the papers when a sheet fell from the packet he carried and fluttered to the ground. He had no sooner stooped to pick it up than a bullet whizzed over his head and was embedded in the wall of one of the houses. He turned and saw a man at one of the windows of a nearby house. He pointed and as he did so another shot was fired; it carried off Coligny's finger, grazed his arm and became embedded in his shoulder.

He shouted: 'That house. Through that window.'

Some of his followers obeyed; others clustered about him. The sleeve of his jacket was saturated with his blood and he felt dizzy from its loss.

'The king . . .' he said. 'Tell him . . . at once .

Merlin, one of his ministers, realizing that the Admiral was fainting from the loss of blood, put an arm about him.

'Let us get to your lodging,' he said. 'In all haste . .

'Ah,' murmured Coligny leaning against Merlin, 'this will be the work of the Guises. What a noble fidelity was intended when the Duke made his peace with me . .

Very slowly and now quiet painfully, the Admiral, surrounded by those friends who had not gone in search of the assassin, went into his house in the Rue Bethisy.

When the news was taken to the King, he was still playing tennis.

'Sire, the Admiral has been shot. It happened while he was on his way to his home. The shot came from an empty house.'

Charles stood still, clutching his racquet. He was afraid. He looked at Guise; the man was impassive, betraying nothing; he was aware of the anguish in Teligny's eyes.

'Sire, give me leave to go to him.' That was Teligny speaking.

Charles said nothing He continued to stare before him. There was no peace anywhere. No one was safe. There was no peace.

'Shall I never have a moment's peace?' he sobbed.

'Sire, Sire, I beg of you . . . leave to go to him.'

'Go, go!' cried Charles. 'Oh, God in Heaven, what have they done to my friend?'

Guise was at his elbow. 'Sire, it would be well to send doctors. Something may yet be done.'

Charles' voice rose to a scream. 'Yes, yes. Send them all. Send Pare. Pare will save him. I myself will go. I . .

He was sobbing as he ran into the palace.

Catherine was sitting quietly in her apartments when Madalenna came running in with the news.

'Madame, the Admiral has been shot.'

'Shot?' she was exultant, but her eyes expressed horror, 'Madelenna, you lie. It cannot be.'

'Oh yes, Madame. He was on his way to the Rue Bethisy from the palace when a shot was fired through the window of an empty house.'

'But this is terrible.' She did not move; she was thinking: I will send the head to Rome. It should arrive almost as soon as news of the wedding. 'And . . . who fired the shot? Have you discovered that, Madelenna?'

'It is not yet known, Madame, but the house is next to that of the Chanoine of Saint-German l'Auxerrois, and the Chanoine was once a tutor of the Guises.'

'And . . . have they caught the assassin?'

'I do not know, Madame.'

'Then go and see what you can discover. Go into the streets and hear what people are saying.'

Catherine was ready to meet the King when he came into the palace. His eyes were wild and she noted the familiar twitching of the lips, the foam on the mouth.

'Have you heard? Have you heard?' he shouted to his mother. 'They have tried to kill my dear friend, the Admiral. They have tried to kill the great Gaspard de Coligny.'

'If they have tried and failed, my son, let us be thankful. If he is not dead we must save him.'

'We must save him. Pare! Pare! Where is Pare? Do not stand staring at me, dwarf. Go . . . go and bring Pare to me. Let all go . . . All go and find Pare. There may not be a moment to lose. When you have found him send him to the house of the Admiral. Tell him to lose no time . . . or he shall answer to me. Mother, I must go there at once. I must tell him to live . . . to live. . .'

'My son, you must calm yourself. You cannot leave in this state, my darling. You must be guided by me. Wait . . . wait until there is more news. Send Pare by all means, but do not yet go yourself. You do not know how ill he is. Wait awhile, I beg of you. You cannot suffer more shocks this day.'

He was tearing at his coat; he was sobbing wildly. 'He was my father. I trusted him. They have killed him. He must have suffered cruelly. Oh my God, how he suffers. There will be blood . . . his blood . . .

'And you must not see it,' soothed Catherine. 'Wait, my son. Ah, here is Pare. Pare, the King's orders are that you go immediately to the house of the Admiral and . . . save his life. Go . . . go at once.'

'Yes, Pare, go . . . go! Do not delay, but go now.'

Catherine said to her dwarf: 'Call Madeleine and Mademoiselle Touchet. Tell them to come to the King's apartments at once: Between them they did their best to soothe the tortured King.

All the chief Huguenots were assembled at the house in the Rue Bethisy. Teligny, Henry of Navarre, the Prince of Conde, the Duke de la Rochefoucauld waited in an outer chamber. Nicholas Muss, Gaspard's oldest and most faithful servant, and Merlin, his minister, remained in the sick-room. A message had been sent to Montgomery at Saint-Germain. Outside the house a crowd of Huguenots were gathered; there were angry murmurings in that crowd and the name of Guise was repeated again and again.

A cheer of hope went up when Ambroise Pare, the greatest surgeon in Paris and a Huguenot, was seen hurrying to the house. The crowd parted to make a way for him 'The good God aid you, Monsieur Pare. May you snatch the life of our great leader from these wicked men who would murder him.'

Pare said he would do his best and hurried into the house.

He found the Admiral very weak. The wound in itself did not appear to be a mortal one, but Coligny had lost a good deal of blood and there was a possibility that the bullet, which was lodged in his shoulder, might be poisoned.

Navarre and Conde, Teligny and Rochefoucauld followed Pare into the room.

'Messieurs,' said Pare, 'it may be necessary to take off the arm. If that could satisfactorily be done, the danger would be considerably lessened.'

Coligny had heard. 'If that is your opinion,' he said resignedly, 'then let it be done.

Pare examined the arm more thoroughly, washing the stains away and prodding the tissue. He smiled. 'Not so bad as I at first thought,' he said. 'The arm is sound enough. If I remove what is left of the finger and extract the bullet, that may be all that is necessary.'

It was going to be an excruciating ordeal, for there was no opium available, and Coligny must look on while Pare performed the operation with a pair of scissors. Muss and Teligny held the Admiral who, with his pale face and bloodless lips already had the appearance of a corpse; yet it was Teligny who groaned; it was Muss who sobbed.

'Have courage, my friends,' said the Admiral. 'The pain is not yet such as cannot be borne, and it will soon be over. All that comes to us is through the will of God.'

Merlin whispered: 'Yes, my friends. Let us thank God for sparing the Admiral's life, for sparing his head and his understanding, rather than reproach Him for what has happened.'

The stump of forefinger was at length amputated, and after several very painful attempts, Pare extracted the bullet. The Admiral lay back fainting in the arms of Muss and Teligny. He longed for unconsciousness to escape the pain, but he had disciplined himself for so long, and the needs of his body had always been sacrificed for the good of the cause. He was afraid-not so much of his own sufferings, but of what this attempted assassination meant to all his friends and followers now assembled in Paris.

He murmured: 'I have now . . . no real enemies . . . but the Guises. But remember, my friends, it may not have been they who struck this blow. We must be sure before making accusations.

He heard a murmur about him. Someone said: 'We will go and kill the Guises. Shall they escape punishment for what they have done to the Admiral?'

Coligny tried to lift a hand and groaned. 'Nay . I beg of you. No bloodshed . . . now. That would indeed be the ruin of France.'

Pare whispered: 'Leave him now. He must rest.'

All left but Teligny, Muss, Pare and Merlin.

There were moments during that pain-racked morning when Coligny could not remember where he was. At one time he thought he was at Chatillon with his, first wife, and that Andelot had just been born. Then the child seemed to be Francois, not Andelot. Now he was hearing of the death of that other Andelot. Then he was with Jacqueline and Jeanne of Navarre in his rose gardens.

'Rest, rest!' begged Pare. 'That is what you must do. You are strong, Monsieur l'Amiral, but you need rest for you have lost much blood.'