one, monsieur, can be
more cruel than a panic-stricken man."

"Who was it," I asked, "that made the first attempt on the Admiral's
life?"

"Maurevel."

"The king's assassin!"

"The same man; but he did not receive his orders from Charles; on that
point I feel certain."

"Henry of Navarre still lives," I said after a time.

"Yes; he and Conde have been spared so far."

"And their gentlemen? They were lodged with their chiefs in the Louvre;
surely they have not been slain?"

"Monsieur, I will tell you the story, so that you may understand how
utterly helpless you are. Every one in the palace went to bed that
night, restless and excited, afraid and yet not knowing of what they
were afraid. As soon as day broke, Henry descended the staircase; Conde
was with him, and they were followed by their gentlemen."

"They must have numbered two hundred!"

"About that number. At the foot of the staircase Henry and Conde were
arrested and disarmed. Their gentlemen were called by name, and they
stepped one by one into the courtyard."

"Yes," I said, as he hesitated.

"The courtyard was filled with Swiss guards. Your colleagues died
bravely, monsieur, some of them defiantly, taunting the king with their
last breath."

"The king!" I cried in astonishment, "where was the king?"

"Looking from an upper window."

"Yet you endeavoured to make me believe he was not responsible for the
massacre!"

"I still believe that to be true; but when it began, he became blood
mad."

"De Pilles was at the Louvre!"

"De Pilles is dead! Except Navarre, who cannot help even himself, you
have not a single friend left. You cannot return to Le Blanc, and
wherever you go you will be hunted down by Cordel's assassins. He can
strike at you now without fear, and he will do so. He has the promise of
your estates, and a strong hope of a patent of nobility. You cannot
leave Rochelle, and even there you will not be safe."

"Your comfort is but cold," I said, forcing myself to laugh.

"I want you to see the truth in all its nakedness, so that you may not
feed yourself with false hopes," he replied soberly.

"After what has happened in Paris there is little chance of my doing
that; but I must have time to think; I must consult with my friends at
Rochelle."

By this time the news of the fearful massacre on the day of St.
Bartholomew had spread far and wide; the whole country was wild with
excitement, and in the various towns through which we