comfortable as possible.

Fearing that a watch might have been set at the bridges, they
avoided these, crossing either by ferry boats or at fords. The
Loire was passed above Orleans, and as that city, Blois, and Tours
all lay on the northern bank, they met with no large towns on their
way, until they approached Chatellerault. They bore to the south to
avoid that city and Poitiers and, on the eighth day after leaving
Paris, they reached the chateau of Laville, having travelled
upwards of two hundred miles.

As they crossed the drawbridge, Philip's four retainers met them at
the 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 La
Rochelle, and returned yesterday. There are rumours, sir, that at
Poitiers and Niort the Catholics have again, in spite of the
edicts, fallen upon the Huguenots; and though the countess believes
not the tale, we had a guard posted at the gate last night."

"I am afraid it is true, Eustace," Philip said. "Take the horses
round to the stables, and see to them well. They have travelled
fast."

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

"Aunt," he said, "I confide this lady to your loving care. It is
Mademoiselle de Valecourt, now my affianced wife. I have bad news
to tell you; but I pray you lead her first to a chamber, for she is
sore 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," Claire
said. "It is better that you should not keep her in suspense, even
for a moment, on my account."

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

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

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

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

"And