o by the name of Breme, a follower of the Duke of Guise,
with a congenial band of accomplices, rushed into the room. They saw a
venerable man, pale, and with bandaged wounds, in his night-dress,
engaged in prayer.

"Art thou the admiral?" demanded the assassin, with brandished sword.

"I am," replied the admiral; "and thou, young man, shouldst respect my
gray hairs. Nevertheless, thou canst abridge my life but a little."

Breme plunged his sword into his bosom, and then withdrawing it, gave
him a cut upon the head. The admiral fell, calmly saying, "If I could
but die by the hand of a gentleman instead of such a knave as this!"
The rest of the assassins then rushed upon him, piercing his body with
their daggers.

The Duke of Guise, ashamed himself to meet the eye of this noble
victim to the basest treachery, remained impatiently in the court-yard
below.

"Breme!" he shouted, looking up at the window, "have you done it?"

"Yes," Breme exclaimed from the chamber, "he is done for."

"Let us see, though," rejoined the duke. "Throw the body from the
window."

The mangled corpse was immediately thrown down upon the pavement of
the court-yard. The duke, with his handkerchief, wiped the blood and
the dirt from his face, and carefully scrutinized the features.

"Yes," said he, "I recognize him. He is the man."

Then giving the pallid cheek a kick, he exclaimed, "Courage, comrades!
we have happily begun. Let us now go for others. The king commands
it."

In sixteen years from this event the Duke of Guise was himself
assassinated, and received a kick in the face from Henry III., brother
of the same king in whose service he had drawn the dagger of the
murderer. Thus died the Admiral Coligni, one of the noblest sons of
France. Though but fifty-six years of age, he was prematurely infirm
from care, and toil, and suffering.

For three days the body was exposed to the insults of the populace,
and finally was hung up by the feet on a gibbet. A cousin of Coligni
secretly caused it to be taken down and buried.

The tiger, having once lapped his tongue in blood, seems to be imbued
with a new spirit of ferocity. There is in man a similar temper, which
is roused and stimulated by carnage. The excitement of human slaughter
converts man into a demon. The riotous multitude of Parisians was
becoming each moment more and more clamorous for blood. They broke
open the houses of the Protestants, and, rushing into their chambers,
murde