alleged assassin of the Duke of Guise--with an
intensity which probably was not to be found in the affection of his
friends, popular with the latter as he was.

Still, many who were not Huguenots had a regard for him as a great
Frenchman and a gallant soldier. We--though we were of the old faith,
and the other side--had heard much of him, and much good. The Vicomte
had spoken of him always as a great man, a man mistaken, but brave,
honest and capable in his error. Therefore it was that when the
landlord mentioned him, I forgot even my hunger.

"He was shot, my lords, as he passed through the Rue des Fosses,
yesterday," the man declared with bated breath. "It is not known
whether he will live or die. Paris is in an uproar, and there are some
who fear the worst."

"But," I said doubtfully, "who has dared to do this? He had a safe
conduct from the king himself."

Our host did not answer; shrugging his shoulders instead, he opened the
door, and ushered us into the eating-room.

Some preparations for our meal had already been made at one end of the
long board. At the other was seated a man past middle age; richly but
simply dressed. His grey hair, cut short about a massive head, and his
grave, resolute face, square-jawed, and deeply-lined, marked him as one
to whom respect was due apart from his clothes. We bowed to him as we
took our seats.

He acknowledged the salute, fixing us a moment with a penetrating
glance; and then resumed his meal. I noticed that his sword and belt
were propped against a chair at his elbow, and a dag, apparently
loaded, lay close to his hand by the candlestick. Two lackeys waited
behind his chair, wearing the badge we had remarked in the inn yard.

We began to talk, speaking in low tones that we might not disturb him.
The attack on Coligny had, if true, its bearing on our own business.
For if a Huguenot so great and famous and enjoying the king's special
favour still went in Paris in danger of his life, what must be the risk
that such an one as Pavannes ran? We had hoped to find the city quiet.
If instead it should be in a state of turmoil Bezers' chances were so
much the better; and ours--and Kit's, poor Kit's--so much the worse.

Our companion had by this time finished his supper. But he still sat
at table, and seemed to be regarding us with some curiosity. At length
he spoke. "Are you going to Paris, young gentlemen?" he asked, his
tone harsh and high-pitched.

We answe