He went out softly, and I sat on the side of the bed thinking sadly over the information he had brought. There was no Huguenot party; there were neither leaders nor followers. The a.s.sa.s.sins had not only lopped the branches but had uprooted the tree. Even Conde and Henry of Navarre were not safe from the royal vengeance! The horror pressed upon me heavily; even now I could scarcely realize the full extent of the fearful business.

I still sat brooding when L'Estang came again, this time bringing a light. He noticed the white band on the ground, and, stooping, picked it up. "It may be disagreeable," he said, "but it is necessary; it has saved your life once. Remember you are Louis Bourdonais, and he would not refuse to wear it."

"'Tis horrible!" I cried, turning from the badge with loathing.

"That may be, but it is a safeguard you cannot afford to despise. Lean on me; you are weaker than I thought."

He supported me across the room, down the stairway, and so to the door of the house, in front of which a carriage was drawn up. The coachman wore Anjou's livery--a device of L'Estang's, since the equipage did not belong to Monseigneur--and the crowd stood around cheering wildly.

L'Estang, fearful lest any of the lawyer's spies should be there, helped me into the carriage quickly, jumped in himself, and told the driver to whip up his horses. The worst of the ma.s.sacre was over, but the citizens having tasted blood thirsted for more, and, though the hour was so late, they were roaming about in bands shouting for vengeance on the Huguenots.

Our carriage being compelled to proceed slowly, I had ample opportunity to note the traces of the awful tragedy. Every house where a Huguenot had lived was wrecked; in many instances the window-sills were smeared with blood, and dead bodies still lay thick in the streets. I shut my eyes tightly, while my whole body was convulsed by a shudder of horror.

"Monsieur, we are at the gate. Turn your head to the left, so that the officer may not see your face easily. If he asks questions, remember you are Louis Bourdonais of Monseigneur's household."

"Halt! Who goes there?"

My companion looked out. "We are on Monseigneur's private business," he exclaimed. "Here is his pa.s.s. Be quick, if you please, we are in a hurry."

The officer took the paper and examined it closely, "Where is Louis Bourdonais?" he asked.

"Here!" I said, bracing myself with an effort.

"I wish Monseigneur knew his own mind!" he grumbled, "my orders were to let no one through!"

"Shall we go back and ask him to write down his reasons for the change?"

asked L'Estang; but the officer was already giving instructions for the opening of the gate, and in a few minutes we were outside the walls.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Farewell France!

"The danger is over!" exclaimed my companion as we left the city behind us; "lean back on the cushions and try to sleep."

"There are several questions I wish to ask first."

"I will answer them in the morning, when you have rested, but not now,"

he said firmly.

He had brought a number of cushions and rugs, and he tended me as carefully as if I had been a delicate woman. And yet he was in the pay of the brutal Anjou, and perhaps his own hands were not innocent of the blood of my slain comrades!

It might have been that he guessed something of the thoughts pa.s.sing through my mind, for he exclaimed suddenly, "There is one thing I would say, monsieur. This ma.s.sacre is none of my seeking, and through it all my sword has never left the scabbard except in your defence. The mercy once shown to me I have shown again."

"You are a good fellow, L'Estang," I murmured, "and I thank you."

After that I fell asleep and in spite of the jolting of the carriage did not waken until the sun was high in the heavens.

"You have wakened in time for breakfast," said my companion, who appeared not to have slept at all; "in a few minutes we shall arrive at an inn where I intend to halt. I am known there, and we shall be well treated."

We stayed a couple of hours, during which time fresh horses were procured and harnessed to the carriage, while the coachman removed Monseigneur's favours from his hat, and covered his livery with a blue overall.

"Now," I said, when the journey was resumed, tell me why you asked us to meet you at the Louvre, and then failed to keep the appointment!"

"I will answer the last part of the question first; the explanation is very simple. Monseigneur needed my attendance, and when I was able to leave him it was too late."

"You intended to give us warning of this horrible conspiracy?"

"No, I could not betray my patron, but I intended to save you and Monsieur Bellievre. I felt sure you would not leave your leader; I should have despised you if you had."

"And rightly, too."

"So," he continued, "I arranged to carry you off by force, and keep you shut up until the danger was past. Monseigneur, without intending it, disturbed my plans. Guessing you would return to Coligny's _hotel_ I followed as quickly as possible with a few rascals who would do my bidding, and ask no questions. You were not there."

"The troopers reached the _hotel_ before us," I explained.

"I guessed what had happened, and searched the streets. Finally I reached the house where you had taken refuge. I was too late for Monsieur Bellievre; he was dead."

"As true a heart as beat in France!" I said.

"Yes," agreed L'Estang, "he was a gallant youngster. Turning from him I saw you fall, and ran across the room. The mob recognized me as Monseigneur's attendant, or it would have gone hard with you. Even as it was--but there, do the details matter? I got you away at last to the room I had prepared; then it was necessary to return to my patron."

I endeavoured to thank him, but he would hear nothing, saying, "A promise to the dead is sacred, monsieur."

"Charles may not be a strong king," I remarked some time later, "but he plays the hypocrite vastly well. One would have thought from his visit to the Admiral that he was devoured by grief."

"He was both sorry and angry at the attempt on Coligny's life; it was not his work."

"But surely he must have given orders for the ma.s.sacre!"

"Afterwards, monsieur. At first I do not believe that even Guise meant to do more than kill Coligny and a few of the most powerful leaders. But they were blinded by panic; carried away by their own fears, and they swept Charles into the same stream."

"The world will say the horrible tragedy was planned from the beginning."

"The world may be right, but I hardly think so. No one, monsieur, can be more cruel than a panic-stricken man."

"Who was it," I asked, "that made the first attempt on the Admiral's life?"

"Maurevel."

"The king's a.s.sa.s.sin!"

"The same man; but he did not receive his orders from Charles; on that point I feel certain."

"Henry of Navarre still lives," I said after a time.