"Yes; he and Conde have been spared so far."

"And their gentlemen? They were lodged with their chiefs in the Louvre; surely they have not been slain?"

"Monsieur, I will tell you the story, so that you may understand how utterly helpless you are. Every one in the palace went to bed that night, restless and excited, afraid and yet not knowing of what they were afraid. As soon as day broke, Henry descended the staircase; Conde was with him, and they were followed by their gentlemen."

"They must have numbered two hundred!"

"About that number. At the foot of the staircase Henry and Conde were arrested and disarmed. Their gentlemen were called by name, and they stepped one by one into the courtyard."

"Yes," I said, as he hesitated.

"The courtyard was filled with Swiss guards. Your colleagues died bravely, monsieur, some of them defiantly, taunting the king with their last breath."

"The king!" I cried in astonishment, "where was the king?"

"Looking from an upper window."

"Yet you endeavoured to make me believe he was not responsible for the ma.s.sacre!"

"I still believe that to be true; but when it began, he became blood mad."

"De Pilles was at the Louvre!"

"De Pilles is dead! Except Navarre, who cannot help even himself, you have not a single friend left. You cannot return to Le Blanc, and wherever you go you will be hunted down by Cordel's a.s.sa.s.sins. He can strike at you now without fear, and he will do so. He has the promise of your estates, and a strong hope of a patent of n.o.bility. You cannot leave Roch.e.l.le, and even there you will not be safe."

"Your comfort is but cold," I said, forcing myself to laugh.

"I want you to see the truth in all its nakedness, so that you may not feed yourself with false hopes," he replied soberly.

"After what has happened in Paris there is little chance of my doing that; but I must have time to think; I must consult with my friends at Roch.e.l.le."

By this time the news of the fearful ma.s.sacre on the day of St.

Bartholomew had spread far and wide; the whole country was wild with excitement, and in the various towns through which we pa.s.sed the unhappy Huguenots were being hounded mercilessly to death. Thanks, however, to L'Estang, I was never in any danger, and at length we arrived at the gates of what had become a veritable city of refuge.

Here, with many expressions of good-will on both sides, we parted, L'Estang to return to Paris, and I to enter the grief-stricken town.

Numbers of fugitives thronged the streets; everywhere one saw groups of men, and weeping women, and frightened children who had abandoned their homes in terror.

I proceeded slowly and haltingly, being still extremely weak, and many a curious glance was directed toward my bandaged head. Expecting to find Jeanne at my aunt's house, I went there first, and in the courtyard saw two horses saddled and bridled as if for a journey. I stopped a moment to speak to the servant, when a voice exclaimed joyfully, "'Tis he! 'Tis Monsieur Edmond!" and Jacques came running out, his face beaming with delight.

"We were coming in search of you," he cried. "Monsieur Braund is in the house, bidding mademoiselle farewell. She is terribly alarmed on your account; she believes you to be dead. She blames herself bitterly for leaving you in Paris. Is the news true, monsieur? Is it really true that the n.o.ble Coligny has been murdered?"

"Yes," I answered sadly, "it is too true. But you shall hear all about it later; I must go to my sister."

Roger was endeavouring to comfort her, but on seeing me she broke from him and ran across the room, crying, "Edmond! Edmond!" as if she could scarcely credit the evidence of her senses.

"Did you think I was a ghost, Jeanne?" I asked laughingly. "'Tis I, Edmond, and very much alive, I a.s.sure you. Come, let me dry those tears; you will spoil your pretty eyes."

"Oh, Edmond," she gasped, "I thought you were killed! And you have been wounded! Your head is bandaged."

"I have had a very narrow escape, Jeanne; but here I am, and there is no need for any more sorrow on my account."

"And Felix?" she cried, "has he escaped too? Where have you left him?

Ah, he is dead! I am sure of it! I can read it in your face!"

"Yes," I answered sadly, "there have been terrible doings in Paris, and Felix is among the slain."

"And he was so brave and good!" she sobbed. "Poor Felix! Tell me about it, Edmond."

When she had become more composed I related the story just as it had happened, but softening down the more brutal parts lest her grief should break out afresh. She was silent for a little while, but presently she said, "The Cause is ruined, Edmond!"

"Yes," I admitted, reluctantly, "with all our leaders slain, or in the hands of the king, we are powerless. And now, my dear Jeanne, you had better go to your room and rest a while."

"But you are hurt!" she exclaimed anxiously.

"The wound is not serious, and it has been skilfully dressed. However, Roger shall fetch a surgeon."

"And you need food," she said, "you are weak and faint. It is you who need rest, and I will take care of you."

"Very well," I said, thinking it would be better perhaps if she had something to occupy her mind, "you shall nurse back my strength."

Now that the excitement of the journey had pa.s.sed I felt, indeed, painfully weak, and for several days kept to my bed, being waited upon by Jeanne and Roger, while Jacques slept at night in my chamber.

One morning toward the end of the week Roger came as usual to sit with me. Jeanne was in the room, but she disappeared quickly, her pretty cheeks covered with blushes.

"You have frightened Jeanne away!" I exclaimed, laughing.

"She knows that I wish to have a talk with you," he answered, and upon my word he began to blush like an overgrown boy.

"One would fancy it a matter of some importance!"

"Of the greatest importance," he replied earnestly, "since it affects all your future life. Do you realize that unless you desert your faith, and go to ma.s.s, your career is ruined? Your account of the ma.s.sacre was under rather than over the mark. With the exception of Conde and Navarre there does not appear to be a single Huguenot leader left, and it is reported that Conde has recanted in order to save his life."

"The Cause is not dead because Conde has forsaken it."

"No," agreed Roger, "but it is dead nevertheless. Henry is a prisoner in Paris; the Huguenots are scattered and dispirited; they have no leaders, no arms, no money; there is not a single district in which they are not at the mercy of the king's troops. Already the Paris ma.s.sacre has been repeated in several towns."

"Well," I said, wondering whither all this tended.

"You yourself cannot leave Roch.e.l.le except at the risk of your life."

"Because of Cordel?"

"Because of Cordel. He means to possess your estates; he has a powerful patron in Anjou, and you cannot obtain the ear of the king."

"'Twould do me little service if I could!"

"What will you do in Roch.e.l.le?"