that he was compelled to postpone his business. "Get you back to
Eaucourt," said Coligny, "and cultivate your garden till I send for you.
France is too crooked just now for a forthright fellow like you to do
her service, and I do not think that the air of Paris is healthy for our
house." Gaspard was fain to obey, judging that the Admiral spoke of some
delicate state business for which he was aware he had no talent. A
word with M. de Teligny reassured him as to the Admiral's safety, for
according to him the King now leaned heavily against the Guises.

But lo and behold! the gates of Paris were locked to him, and he found
himself interned in the sweltering city.

He did not like it. There was an ugly smack of intrigue in the air,
puzzling to a plain soldier. Nor did he like the look of the streets now
dim in the twilight. On his way to the gates they had been crammed like
a barrel of salt fish, and in the throng there had been as many armed
men as if an enemy made a leaguer beyond the walls. There had been,
too, a great number of sallow southern faces, as if the Queen-mother had
moved bodily thither a city of her countrymen. But now as the dark fell
the streets were almost empty. The houses were packed to bursting--a
blur of white faces could be seen at the windows, and every entry seemed
to be alive with silent men. But in the streets there was scarcely a
soul except priests, flitting from door to door, even stumbling against
his horse in their preoccupation. Black, brown, and grey crows, they
made Paris like Cartagena. The man's face took a very grim set as he
watched these birds of ill omen. What in God's name had befallen his
honest France?... He was used to danger, but this secret massing chilled
even his stout heart. It was like a wood he remembered in Florida where
every bush had held an Indian arrow, but without sight or sound of a
bowman. There was hell brewing in this foul cauldron of a city.

He stabled his horse in the yard in the Rue du Coq, behind the glover's
house where he had lain the night before. Then he set out to find
supper. The first tavern served his purpose. Above the door was a wisp
of red wool, which he knew for the Guise colours. Inside he looked to
find a crowd, but there was but one other guest. Paris that night had
business, it seemed, which did not lie in the taverns.

That other guest was a man as big as himself, clad wholly in black, save
for a stiff cambric ruff worn rather fuller than