Saint Bartholomew's Eve: A Tale of the Huguenot Wars

  Chapter 21: Escape.

  "This is awful, Pierre," Philip said, as he hurriedly assumed thedisguise the latter had prepared.

  The clamour outside was indeed terrible. The bell of Saint Germainl'Auxerrois was still sounding its signal, but mingled with it werea thousand sounds of combat and massacre, the battering of hammersand axes upon doors, the discharges of arquebuses and pistols, theshouts of men and the loud screams of women.

  Pierre glanced out of the window. With the soldiers were mingled acrowd from the slums of Paris; who, scenting carnage from themovements of the citizen troops, had waited in readiness to gatherthe spoil; and had arrived on the spot, as if by magic, as soon asthe first signal of alarm told them that the work of slaughter hadbegun.

  "Can we get out behind, think you, Pierre?" Philip asked, as hejoined him.

  "I will see, sir. One could scarce sally out, here, without beingat once seized and questioned. Doubtless a watch was placed in therear, at first; but the soldiers would be likely to make off, tojoin in the massacre and get their share of plunder, as soon as theaffair began.

  "You will do, sir, as far as the dress goes; but you must smearyour face and arms. They are far too white, at present, and wouldbe 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 heentered.

  "I did not know you," she said. "Come; are we ready? It were surelybetter to die at once, than to listen to these dreadful sounds."

  "One moment. Pierre will return directly. He has gone to seewhether the lane behind the houses is clear. Once fairly away, andour 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 notime, there."

  And, standing with upturned face, she prayed earnestly forprotection.

  "Lead us, O God," she concluded, "through the strife and turmoil;as Thou didst the holy men of old, through the dangers of the lionsand the furnace. But if it be Thy will that we should die, then dowe commend our souls to Thee; in the sure faith that we are butpassing through death into life.

  "Now I am ready," she said, turning to Philip.

  "You cannot go like this, Mademoiselle Claire," Pierre saidreverently. "Of what good would that disguise be to you, when yourface would betray you in the darkest street? You must ruffle yourhair, and pull that hood over your face, so as to hide it as muchas possible."

  The girl walked across to a mirror.

  Philip, Claire and Pierre disguise themselves.]

  "I would I could take my sword, Pierre," said Philip.

  "Take it, sir. Strap it boldly round your waist. If anyone remarkson it, laugh, and say it was a Huguenot's half an hour ago. I willcarry mine stuck under my arm.

  "Use as few words as may be, if you have to speak; and speak themgruffly, or they will discover at once that you are no smith. Ifear not for ourselves. We can play our parts--fight or run for it.It is that angel I fear for."

  "God will protect her, Pierre. Ah! They are knocking at the door,and the women of the house may be coming down to open it."

  "Not they, sir. You may be sure they are half mad with terror. Notone has shown herself, since the tumult began. The landlord and histwo sons are, doubtless, with the city bands. Like enough they haveled some of their fellows here, or why should they attack the door,as it is unmarked?"

  Claire joined them again. They hurried downstairs, and then out bythe back entrance into a narrow lane. Philip carried a heavy hammeron his shoulder. Pierre had a large butcher's knife stuckconspicuously in his girdle. He was bare headed and had dipped hishead in water, so that his hair fell matted across his face, whichwas grimy and black.

  Day was now breaking, but the light was as yet faint.

  "Keep close to me, Claire," Philip said as they reached the street,which was ablaze with torches. "Above all things do not shrink, orseem as if you were afraid."

  "I am not afraid," she said. "God saved me before from as great aperil, and will save me again, if it seems good to Him."

  "Keep your eyes fixed on me. Pay no attention to what is going onaround you."

  "I will pray," she said simply.

  Just as they entered the street the crowd separated, and the Dukeof Guise, followed by several nobles of his party, rode along,shouting:

  "Death to all Huguenots! It is the king's command."

  "It is the command you and others have put into his mouth,villain!" Philip muttered to himself.

  A roar of ferocious assent rose from the crowd, which was composedof citizen soldiers and the scum of Paris. They danced and yelled,and uttered ferocious jests at the dead bodies lying in the road.

  Here the work of slaughter was nearly complete. Few of theHuguenots had offered any resistance, although some had foughtdesperately to the last. Most of them, however, taken by surprise,and seeing resistance useless, had thrown down their arms; andeither cried for quarter, or had submitted themselves calmly toslaughter. Neither age nor sex had availed to save them. Women andchildren, and even infants, had been slain without mercy.

  The soldiers, provided with lists of the houses inhabited byHuguenots, were going round to see that none had escaped attack.Many in the crowd were attired in articles of dress that they hadgained in the plunder. Ragged beggars wore cloaks of velvet, orplumed hats. Many had already been drinking heavily. Women mingledin the crowd, as ferocious and merciless as the men.

  "Break me in this door, friend," an officer, with a list in hishand and several soldiers standing beside him, said to Philip.

  The latter did not hesitate. To do so would have broughtdestruction on himself and those with him; without averting, formore than a minute or two, the fate of those within. Placinghimself in front of the door, he swung his heavy hammer and broughtit down upon the woodwork. A dozen blows, and the door began tosplinter.

  The crack of a pistol sounded above, and the officer standing closeto him fell dead. Four or five shots were fired, by the soldiers,at the window above. Another two or three blows, and the door gaveway.

  Philip went aside as the soldiers, followed by a crowd, rushed in;and returned to Claire, who was standing by the side of Pierre, afew paces away.

  "Let us go on," he said.

  A few yards further they were at the entrance of a lane runningnorth. As Philip turned into it, a man caught him by the arm.

  "Where are you going, comrade?" he said. "There is plenty of workfor your hammer, yet."

  "I have a job elsewhere," Philip said.

  "It is rare work, comrade. I have killed five of them with my ownhand, and I have got their purses, too," he chuckled.

  "Hallo! Who is this girl you have with you?"

  And he roughly caught hold of Claire.

  Philip's pent-up rage found a vent. He sprang upon the man, seizedhim by the throat, and hurled him with tremendous force against thewall; whence he fell, a senseless mass, on to the ground.

  "What is it?" cried half a dozen men, rushing up.

  "A Huguenot in disguise," Philip said. "You will find his pocketsare full of gold."

  They threw themselves upon the fallen man, fighting and cursing tobe the first to ransack his pockets; while Philip, with his twocompanions, moved up the lane unnoticed.

  Fifty yards farther Claire stumbled, and would have fallen had notPhilip caught her. Her head had fallen forward, and he felt at oncethat she was insensible. He placed her on a doorstep, and supportedher in a sitting position, Pierre standing by. A minute later agroup of men came hurrying down the street.

  "What is it?" one of the group asked, as he stopped for a moment.

  "It is only a woman, squeamish," Pierre said in a rough voice. "Shewould come with us, thinking she could pick up a trinket or two;but, ma foi, it is hot down there, and she turned sick. So we aretaking her home."

  Satisfied with the e
xplanation, the men hurried on.

  "Shall I carry her, Pierre? Her weight would be nothing."

  "Better wait a few minutes, Monsieur Philip, and see if she comesround. Our story is right enough, as long as we stop here; butpeople might want to know more, if they were to meet you carrying awoman."

  Some minutes passed, and then, finding that Claire remainedunconscious, Philip lifted her on to his shoulder.

  "We will risk it, Pierre. As long as we only meet them coming alongin twos or threes, we can go on safely; for if they areinquisitive, I can set her down and speedily silence theirquestioning. If we see a large body coming, we can either turn downa side street or, if there is no turning at hand, can set her downagain and answer as before. Every step we get, farther away fromthe quarter we have left, the better."

  He had carried Claire but a few hundred yards, when he felt hermove. He at once set her down again, on a doorstep. In a fewminutes she was able to stand and, assisted by Philip, shepresently continued her course, at a slow pace. Gradually themovement restored her strength, and she said, speaking for thefirst time:

  "I can walk alone."

  An hour later they reached the hut that they had marked out astheir place of refuge. Pierre went to a corner and drew out, fromunder a heap of rubbish, a large bundle.

  "Here is your cloak and mine," he said, "and a change of clothesfor each of us. We could not wander about the country, in thisguise."

  Philip laid the cloaks down to form a sort of couch; and placed thebundle, with the rest of the things in, as a pillow.

  "Now, mademoiselle," he said, "you will be safe here untilnightfall. First you must drink a glass of wine, and try and eatsomething. Pierre brought some up here, two days ago. Then I hopeyou will lie down. I will watch outside the door. Pierre will godown into the town, to gather news."

  "I will take something presently," she said. "I could eat nothing,now."

  But Pierre had already uncorked a bottle, and Philip advised her todrink a little wine.

  "You will need all your strength," he said, "for we have a longjourney before us."

  She drank a few drops.

  "Do not go yet," she said. "I must speak to you."

  Philip nodded to Pierre, who left the hut. Claire sat on the cloaksfor some minutes, in silence.

  "I have been thinking, Monsieur Philip," she said at last, "and itseems to me that it would not be right for me to go with you. I amthe promised wife of the Sieur de Pascal, and that promise is allthe more sacred, since he to whom I gave it,"--and she paused--"isgone. It would not be right for me to go with you. You shall takeme to the Louvre, where I will crave the protection of the King andQueen of Navarre.

  "Do not think me ungrateful for what you have done for me. Twicenow you have saved my life, and, and--you understand me, Philip?"

  "I do," he said, "and honour your scruples. One of my objects, insending Pierre down into the town again, is to learn what has takenplace at the Louvre. It may be that this fiendish massacre hasextended there, and that even the King of Navarre, and the Huguenotgentlemen with him, have shared the fate of the others. Should itnot be so, it would be best in every way that what you suggestshould be carried out.

  "As for the Sieur de Pascal, it may be that the blow, that hasbereft you of your good father, may well have fallen upon him,also."

  "But many will surely escape, as we have done. It cannot be thatall our friends--all those who rode in with the princes--can havebeen murdered."

  "Some have doubtless escaped; but I fear that the massacre will bealmost universal, for it has evidently been carefully planned and,once begun, will extend not only to the followers of Navarre, butto all the Protestants within the walls of Paris."

  "Do you know aught concerning the Sieur de Pascal?" Claire asked,looking up.

  Something in the tone of his voice struck her.

  "I saw him fall, mademoiselle. He had made for the door of yourhouse, doubtless with the intention of joining your father indefending it to the last; but the murderers were already there. Hewas attacked on the doorstep, and was surrounded, and well-nighspent, when I saw him. I tried to reach him through the crowd but,before I could do so, he fell.

  "Then, seeing that it would be but throwing away my life, anddestroying all chance of saving yours, I hurried away to carry outthe plan I had before formed of making my way along the roofs, andso entering your house.

  "Monsieur de Pascal fell, mademoiselle, as a brave soldier,fighting against a host of foes, and in defence of yourself andyour father. It was an unfortunate, though noble impulse, that ledhim there; for I had rubbed out the mark upon your door that servedas a guide for the soldiers, and you and the count might haveescaped over the roof, before any attack was made, had not hispresence aroused their suspicions."

  Claire had hidden her face in her hands, as he began to speak; andhe had kept on talking, in order to give her time to collect herfeelings; but as she was now crying unrestrainedly, he went quietlyout of the hut and left her to herself; glad that tears had come toher relief, for the first time.

  An hour later the door opened behind him, and Claire called him in.

  "I am better now," she said, "I have been able to cry. It seemedthat my heart was frozen, and I was like one in a terriblenightmare. Now I know that it is all true, and that my dear fatheris dead.

  "As for Monsieur de Pascal, I am sorry that a brave soldier hasbeen killed; but that is all. You know that I received him, as myaffianced husband, simply in obedience to my father's commands; andthat my heart had no part in it. God has broken the tie, and forthat, even in this time of sorrow, I cannot but feel relief."

  At this moment there was a knock at the door. Then the latch waslifted, and Pierre entered.

  "What is the news, Pierre?"

  "It is bad, sir. The king has, in truth, put himself at the head ofthe massacre; and even in the Louvre, itself, several Huguenotgentlemen have been slain, though I could not learn their names. Itis said that some of them were slain in the presence of the youngQueen of Navarre, in spite of her entreaties and cries. The youngking and his cousin Conde are close prisoners; and it is said thatthey, too, will be slain, unless they embrace the Catholic faith.

  "The massacre has spread to all parts of the town, and theHuguenots are everywhere being dragged from their homes and killed,together with their wives and children. It is said that the bodiesof Coligny, and other Huguenot leaders, have been taken to theLouvre; and that the king and the queen mother and the ladies, aswell as the gentlemen of the court, have been down to view them andmake a jest of them.

  "Truly, sir, Paris seems to have gone mad. It is said that ordershave been sent, to all parts of France, to exterminate theHuguenots."

  Philip made a sign to Pierre to leave the hut.

  "This is terrible news," he said to Claire, "and it is now clearthat the Louvre will afford you no protection. In these days, nomore mercy is shown to women than to men; and at best, or at worst,you could but save your life by renouncing your faith."

  "I had already decided," she said quietly, "that I would not go tothe Louvre. The death of Monsieur de Pascal has altered everything.As his affianced wife, with the consent of my father, the kingwould hardly have interfered to have forced me into anothermarriage; but, being now free, he would treat me as a ward of thecrown, and would hand me and my estates to one of his favourites.Anything would be better than that.

  "Now, of course, it is out of the question. Estates I have none;for, with the extermination of our people, their estates will begranted to others."

  "As to that, mademoiselle, they have been trying to massacre theHuguenots for years; and though, doubtless, in the towns many mayfall, they will not be taken so readily in the country; and may,even yet, rally and make head again.

  "Still, that does not alter the present circumstances; and I see noother plan but that I had first formed, for you to accompany me andmy servant, in disguise."

  The girl stood hesitating, twining her fingers over each other,res
tlessly.

  "It is so strange, so unmaidenly," she murmured.

  "Then, Claire," Philip said, taking her hands in his, "you mustgive me the right to protect you. It is strange to speak of love,at such a time as this; but you know that I love you. As a richheiress, and altogether above my station, even had you been free Imight never have spoken; but now, standing as we do surrounded bydangers, such distinctions are levelled. I love you with all myheart, and it seems to me that God, himself, has brought ustogether."

  "It is surely so, Philip," she said, looking up into his face. "Hasnot God sent you twice to save me? Some day I will tell you of myheart, but not now, dear--not now. I am alone in the world, saveyou. I am sure that my father, if he now sees us, must approve.Therefore, Philip, henceforth I am your affianced wife, and amready to follow you to the end of the world."

  Philip stooped down, and kissed her gently. Then he dropped herhands, and she stood back a little apart from him.

  "It were best that I called Pierre in," he said. "Even in thislonely quarter some one might pass and, seeing him standing at thedoor, wonder who he might be."

  So saying, he opened the door and called Pierre in.

  "Pierre," he said gravely, "Mademoiselle de Valecourt is now myaffianced wife."

  "That is as it should be, master," Pierre said; and then, steppingup to Claire, who held out her hand to him, he reverently pressedit with his lips.

  "Mademoiselle," he said, "my life will henceforth be at yourdisposal, as at that of my master. We may have dangers to face, butif anyone can get you through them, he can."

  "Thank you, Pierre," the girl said. "It is well, indeed, that weshould have with us one so faithful and attached as yourself."

  In the hours that passed before nightfall, Philip related to Clairehow Pierre's warnings had excited his uneasiness; and how thediscovery of the chalk marks, on the doors, had confirmed him inhis conviction that some evil was intended; and explained the stepsthey had taken for providing for an escape from the city.

  "I have been wondering vaguely, Philip," she said, when he had toldthe story, "how it was that you should have appeared so suddenly,and should have a disguise in readiness for me. But how could youhave guessed that I should be ready to go with you?"

  And for the first time, a slight tinge of colour came into hercheeks.

  "It was scarcely a guess, Claire. It was rather a despairing hope.It seemed to me that, amid all this terror and confusion, I mightin some way be able to rescue you; and I made the only preparationthat seemed possible.

  "I knew that you were aware that I loved you. When you told me ofyour engagement, I felt that you were saying farewell to me. When Ithought of saving you, it was for him and not for myself; for Iknew that you would never oppose your father's wishes. I did notdream of such a general calamity as it has been. I thought only ofa rising of the mob of Paris, and that perhaps an hour or two indisguise might be sufficient, until the king's troops restoredorder."

  "It is very wonderful," Claire said earnestly. "It seems, beyondall doubt, that it is God Himself who has thus given me to you; andI will not doubt that, great as the dangers may seem to be beforeus, He will lead us safely through them.

  "You will make for La Rochelle?"

  "Yes. Once there we shall be safe. You may be sure that there, atleast, the cruel orders of the king will be wholly disregarded; aswe may hope they will be, in many other towns in which theHuguenots are numerous; but at La Rochelle, certainly, were all therest of France in flames, the people would remain steadfast.

  "But I do not believe that the power of the Huguenots will bebroken. It may be that, in the northern towns, the orders of theking will be carried out; but from thence we have obtained no aidin our former struggles. Our strength in the south will stillremain and, though the loss of so many leaders and nobles, here inParis, will be a heavy blow, I hope that the cause of the faithwill speedily rally from it and make head again; just as it didwhen all seemed lost, after the battle of Moncontour."

  So they talked until night fell, with Pierre sitting discreetly inthe corner, as far away as possible, apparently sleeping most ofthe time. As soon as it became perfectly dark, the bundle ofclothes was taken from the hiding place and, going outside the hut,Philip and Pierre put on their ordinary attire. Claire had simplyslipped on the dress prepared for her over her own, and had but tolay it aside.

  After partaking of a meal, they made their way to the nearest stepsleading to the top of the wall. One end of the rope was fastened tothe parapet, the other was tied round Claire, and she was carefullylowered to the ground. Philip and Pierre slid down the rope afterher, and they at once started across the country.

  After three hours' walking, they reached the farm where Pierre hadleft the horses. They left Claire a short distance away. As Pierrehad seen the horses put into the stables, he knew exactly wherethey were. He had, on leaving them there, paid for a week's keep;saying that he might come for them in haste, and perhaps at night,and if so he would saddle and take them off without waking thefarmer.

  The horses whinnied with pleasure, when Philip spoke to them. Thesaddles and bridles were found, hanging on a beam where Pierre hadplaced them; and in two or three minutes the horses were led out,ready to start. Philip had arranged his cloak behind his saddle,for Claire to sit upon; and led the horse to the place where shewas awaiting them.

  "All has passed off well," he said. "No one in the farmhouse seemsto have heard a sound."

  He leapt into the saddle. Claire placed her foot on his, and heswung her up behind him; and they then started at a brisk trot.

  Avoiding all large towns, and stopping only at village inns, theymade their way south; making long journeys each day. In thevillages there was little of the religious rancour that animatedthe people in the towns and, after the first two days, Philip foundthat the news of what had occurred at Paris had not, as yet,spread. Eager questions were asked Pierre as to the grand weddingfestivities at Paris; and there was, everywhere, a feeling ofsatisfaction at a union that seemed to promise to give peace toFrance.

  Claire was generally supposed to be Philip's sister; and thehostesses always did their best to make the girl, with her pale sadface, as comfortable as possible.

  Fearing that a watch might have been set at the bridges, theyavoided these, crossing either by ferry boats or at fords. TheLoire was passed above Orleans, and as that city, Blois, and Toursall lay on the northern bank, they met with no large towns on theirway, until they approached Chatellerault. They bore to the south toavoid that city and Poitiers and, on the eighth day after leavingParis, they reached the chateau of Laville, having travelledupwards of two hundred miles.

  As they crossed the drawbridge, Philip's four retainers met them atthe gate, and greeted him most warmly.

  "Is the countess in?" he asked, as he alighted.

  "She is, Monsieur Philip. She has been for some days at LaRochelle, and returned yesterday. There are rumours, sir, that atPoitiers and Niort the Catholics have again, in spite of theedicts, fallen upon the Huguenots; and though the countess believesnot the tale, we had a guard posted at the gate last night."

  "I am afraid it is true, Eustace," Philip said. "Take the horsesround to the stables, and see to them well. They have travelledfast."

  Taking Claire's hand, he led her up the steps; and just as heentered the hall the countess, to whom the news of his approach hadbeen carried, met him.

  "Aunt," he said, "I confide this lady to your loving care. It isMademoiselle de Valecourt, now my affianced wife. I have bad newsto tell you; but I pray you lead her first to a chamber, for she issore wearied and in much grief."

  "Francois is not dead?" the countess exclaimed in a low voice,paling to the lips.

  "I trust not, aunt. I have no reason for believing that he is."

  "I will wait here, Philip, with the countess's permission," Clairesaid. "It is better that you should not keep her in suspense, evenfor a moment, on my account."

  "I thank you, mademoiselle," the
countess said, as she led the girlto a couch. "This is but a poor welcome that I am giving you; but Iwill make amends for it, when I have heard what Philip has to tellme.

  "Now, Philip, tell me the worst, and let there be no concealment."

  Philip related the whole story of the massacre, his tale beinginterrupted by frequent exclamations of horror, by the countess.

  "It seems incredible," she cried, "that a king of France shouldthus dishonour himself, alike by breaking his vows, disregardinghis own safe conduct, and massacring those who had accepted hishospitality.

  "And Francois, you say, was at the Louvre with the King of Navarreand Conde; and even there, within the walls of the royal palace,some of the king's guests were murdered; but more than this youknow not?"

  "That is the report that Pierre gathered in the street, aunt. Itmay have been exaggerated. Everyone eagerly seized and retailed thereports that were current. But even if true, it may well be thatFrancois is not among those who fell. To a certain extent he waswarned, for I told him the suspicions and fears that I entertained;and when he heard the tumult outside, he may have effected hisescape."

  "I do not think so," the countess said, drawing herself up to herfull height. "My son was one of the prince's gentlemen of thechamber, and he would have been unworthy of his name, had hethought first of his personal safety and not of that of the youngking."

  Philip knew that this was so; and the knowledge had, from thefirst, prevented his entertaining any great hopes of his cousin'ssafety. However, he said:

  "As long as there was a hope of his being of service to the prince,I am sure that Francois would not have left him. But from thefirst, aunt, resistance was in vain, and would only have excitedthe assailants. Pierre heard that in few cases was there anyresistance, whatever, to the murderers. The horror of the thing wasso great that even the bravest, awakened thus from their sleep,either fell without drawing sword, or fled."

  "What a day for France!" the countess exclaimed. "The Admiral, ourbravest soldier, our greatest leader, a Christian hero, slaughteredas he lay wounded! And how many others of our noblest and best! Andyou say orders have been sent, over all France, to repeat thishorrible massacre?

  "But enough, for the present. I am forgetting my duties as hostess.Mademoiselle de Valecourt, we are alike mourners--you for yournoble father, I for my son, both of us for France and for ourreligion. Yet I welcome you to Laville. For you, brighter days maybe in store. My nephew is a gallant gentleman, and with him you mayfind a home far away from this unhappy country. To me, if Francoishas gone, Philip will stand almost in the light of a son. Francoisloved him as a brother, and he has grown very dear to me, andgladly shall I welcome you as his wife.

  "Now, come with me.

  "Philip, I leave it to you to send round the news to the tenants,and to see that all preparations are made to leave the chateau,once again, to the mercy of our foes; and to retire to La Rochelle,where alone we can talk with safety. See that the bell is rung atonce. The tenants know the summons and, though little expectingdanger, will quickly rally here."

  Philip at once went out into the courtyard, and in a minute thesharp clanging of the bell told the country round that dangerthreatened. The retainers of the chateau ran hastily out, armingthemselves as they went; and exclamations of horror and fury brokefrom them, as Philip told them that the order for the massacre ofthe Huguenots, throughout France, had gone forth; and that already,most of those who rode to Paris with the King of Navarre hadfallen.

  Then he repeated the countess's order that, upon the followingmorning, the chateau should be abandoned and all should ride to LaRochelle; and he despatched half a dozen mounted men, to warn allthe Huguenot gentry in the district.

  In a few minutes the tenants began to flock in. Although the talethat they heard involved the destruction of their newly-builthouses, and the loss of most of their property, this affected thembut slightly in comparison with the news of the murder of Coligny,and of so many Huguenot leaders; and of the terrible fate thatwould befall the Huguenots, in every town in France. Some wept,others clenched their weapons in impotent rage. Some called downthe curses of Heaven upon the faithless king, while some stood asif completely dazed at the terrible news.

  Philip spoke a few cheering words to them.

  "All is not lost yet, my friends. Heaven will raise up freshleaders for us. Many may fall, but the indignation and rage thatyou feel will likewise animate all who, dwelling in the country,may escape; so that, ere long, we shall have fresh armies in thefield. Doubtless the first blow will be struck at La Rochelle, andthere we will meet these murderers face to face; and will have theopportunity of proving, to them, that the men of the Reformedreligion are yet a force capable of resisting oppression, andrevenging treachery. There is one thing: never again shall we makethe mistake of laying down our arms, confiding in the promises andvows of this perjured king; never again shall we be cozened intothrowing away the results of our victories.

  "Gather your horses and cattle, as you did before. Take yourhousehold goods in carts and, at daybreak, send in here the waggonsthat you have to provide, in case of necessity."

  At noon the next day, the whole of the occupants of the chateaustarted for La Rochelle. The tenants, with their cattle and horsesand all their portable property, had left at daybreak; and atnightfall the countess and her party came up with them. Theencampment was a large one. The women and children slept under thewaggons. The men lay down by fires they had kindled, while aportion were told off to keep watch over the animals.

  The train had swollen considerably since they had started. Most ofthe inhabitants of the villages were Huguenots and, as soon asthese heard of the massacres in Paris and elsewhere, they collectedtheir animals, loaded up their carts, and took the road to the cityof refuge.

  After four days' travelling, they entered La Rochelle. The news hadarrived before them, being brought by some of those who had escapedthe massacre, by being lodged without the walls of Paris. Thecountess and Claire were received at the house of Monsieur Bertram.Philip found lodgings near them, and the whole of the inhabitantsvied with each other, in their hospitable reception of the mass offugitives.

  Claire was completely prostrated by the events through which shehad passed, and Monsieur Bertram's daughter devoted herself to her,tending her with unwearied care until, after a week in bed, shebegan again to gather strength.

  The time of the countess was entirely occupied in filling the partthat had, before, been played by Jeanne of Navarre: holdingconsultations with the town councillors, going down to the wallsand encouraging the men who were labouring there, and urging on thepeople to make every sacrifice in defence of their religion andhomes. She herself set the example, by pawning her jewels andselling her horses, and devoting the proceeds to the funds raisedfor the defence.

  She worked with feverish activity, as if to give herself no timefor thought. She was still without news of Francois. Henry ofNavarre and the Prince of Conde had, as was soon known, beencompelled to abjure their religion as the price of their lives. Shewas convinced that her son would have refused to buy his life, uponsuch conditions. Philip, who had come to regard Francois as abrother, was equally anxious and, two days after his arrival at thecity, he took Pierre aside.

  "Pierre," he said, "I cannot rest here in ignorance of the fate ofmy cousin."

  "That I can see, master. You have eaten no food the last two days.You walk about at night, instead of sleeping; and I have beenexpecting, every hour, that you would say to me, 'Pierre, we mustgo to Paris.'"

  "Will you go with me, Pierre?"

  "How can you ask such a question?" Pierre said, indignantly. "Ofcourse, if you go I go, too. There is not much danger in theaffair; and if there were, what then? We have gone through plentyof it, together. It will not be, now, as when we made our escape.Then they were hunting down the Huguenots like mad dogs. Now theythink they have exterminated them in Paris, and will no longer beon the lookout for them. It will be easy enough to come and go,without being
observed; and if we find Monsieur Francois, we willbring him out with us.

  "The young count is not like you, monsieur. He is brave, and agallant gentleman, but he is not one to invent plans of escape; andhe will not get away, unless we go for him."

  "That is what I think, Pierre. We will start at once, but we mustnot let the countess know what we are going for. I will get thechief of the council, openly, to charge me with a mission to thesouth; while telling them, privately, where I am really going, andwith what object. I am known to most of them, and I doubt not theywill fall in with my plans.

  "We will ride my two best horses, and lead a spare one. We willleave them a few miles outside Paris, and then go in disguised ascountrymen. At any rate, we shall soon be able to learn if mycousin is among those who fell. If not, he must be in hidingsomewhere. It will not be easy to discover him, but I trust to youto find him."

  Accordingly, the next day, the countess heard that Philip had beenrequested by the council to proceed on a mission to the south,where the Huguenots were everywhere in arms.