calt, De Guerchy, all are dead; Henry of
Navarre and Conde are both prisoners, and may be put to death at any
moment; your particular friend, Bellievre, is slain--I would have saved
him for your sake, but was too late. Now, if you stay in Paris, one of
two things will happen. You will be discovered here, when every person
in the house will be murdered; or you will venture into the street and
be clubbed to death in less than five minutes."

"I do not wish to drag you into danger."

"There is no danger to me," he answered rather brusquely, "unless you
are obstinate."

"Then I will go with you."

"Very good," he replied, as coolly as if we were about to embark on an
enterprise of the most ordinary kind. "I will make my preparations and
return in a short time."

He went out softly, and I sat on the side of the bed thinking sadly over
the information he had brought. There was no Huguenot party; there were
neither leaders nor followers. The assassins had not only lopped the
branches but had uprooted the tree. Even Conde and Henry of Navarre
were not safe from the royal vengeance! The horror pressed upon me
heavily; even now I could scarcely realize the full extent of the
fearful business.

I still sat brooding when L'Estang came again, this time bringing a
light. He noticed the white band on the ground, and, stooping, picked it
up. "It may be disagreeable," he said, "but it is necessary; it has
saved your life once. Remember you are Louis Bourdonais, and he would
not refuse to wear it."

"'Tis horrible!" I cried, turning from the badge with loathing.

"That may be, but it is a safeguard you cannot afford to despise. Lean
on me; you are weaker than I thought."

He supported me across the room, down the stairway, and so to the door
of the house, in front of which a carriage was drawn up. The coachman
wore Anjou's livery--a device of L'Estang's, since the equipage did not
belong to Monseigneur--and the crowd stood around cheering wildly.

L'Estang, fearful lest any of the lawyer's spies should be there, helped
me into the carriage quickly, jumped in himself, and told the driver to
whip up his horses. The worst of the massacre was over, but the citizens
having tasted blood thirsted for more, and, though the hour was so late,
they were roaming about in bands shouting for vengeance on the
Huguenots.

Our carriage being compelled to proceed slowly, I had ample opportunity
to note the traces of the awful tragedy. Every