murmur of
discontent and ill-humour, which, mingled with cries of "Is that all? Is
there no more? Down with the Huguenots!" rose from all parts. Presently
these cries became merged in a persistent call, which had its origin, as
far as could be discovered, in the darkest corner of the square. A call
for "Montsoreau! Montsoreau! Give us Montsoreau!"

With another man, or had Tavannes turned or withdrawn, or betrayed the
least anxiety, words had become actions, disorder a riot; and that in the
twinkling of an eye. But Count Hannibal, sitting his horse, with his
handful of riders behind him, watched the crowd, as little moved by it as
the Armed Knight of Notre Dame. Only once did he say a word. Then,
raising his hand as before to gain a hearing--

"You ask for Montsoreau?" he thundered. "You will have Montfaucon if you
do not quickly go to your homes!"

At which, and at the glare of his eye, the more timid took fright.
Feeling his gaze upon them, seeing that he had no intention of
withdrawing, they began to sneak away by ones and twos. Soon others
missed them and took the alarm, and followed. A moment and scores were
streaming away through lanes and alleys and along the main street. At
last the bolder and more turbulent found themselves a remnant. They
glanced uneasily at one another and at Tavannes, took fright in their
turn, and plunging into the current hastened away, raising now and then
as they passed through the streets a cry of "Vive Montsoreau!
Montsoreau!"--which was not without its menace for the morrow.

Count Hannibal waited motionless until no more than half a dozen groups
remained in the open. Then he gave the word to dismount; for, so far,
even the Countess and her women had kept their saddles, lest the movement
which their retreat into the inn must have caused should be misread by
the mob. Last of all he dismounted himself, and with lights going before
him and behind, and preceded by Bigot, bearing his cloak and pistols, he
escorted the Countess into the house. Not many minutes had elapsed since
he had called for silence; but long before he reached the chamber looking
over the square from the first floor, in which supper was being set for
them, the news had flown through the length and breadth of Angers that
for this night the danger was past. The hawk had come to Angers, and lo!
it was a dove.

Count Hannibal strode to one of the open windows and looked out. In the
room, which was we