passed the
unhappy Huguenots were being hounded mercilessly to death. Thanks,
however, to L'Estang, I was never in any danger, and at length we
arrived at the gates of what had become a veritable city of refuge.

Here, with many expressions of good-will on both sides, we parted,
L'Estang to return to Paris, and I to enter the grief-stricken town.
Numbers of fugitives thronged the streets; everywhere one saw groups of
men, and weeping women, and frightened children who had abandoned their
homes in terror.

I proceeded slowly and haltingly, being still extremely weak, and many a
curious glance was directed toward my bandaged head. Expecting to find
Jeanne at my aunt's house, I went there first, and in the courtyard saw
two horses saddled and bridled as if for a journey. I stopped a moment
to speak to the servant, when a voice exclaimed joyfully, "'Tis he! 'Tis
Monsieur Edmond!" and Jacques came running out, his face beaming with
delight.

"We were coming in search of you," he cried. "Monsieur Braund is in the
house, bidding mademoiselle farewell. She is terribly alarmed on your
account; she believes you to be dead. She blames herself bitterly for
leaving you in Paris. Is the news true, monsieur? Is it really true that
the noble Coligny has been murdered?"

"Yes," I answered sadly, "it is too true. But you shall hear all about
it later; I must go to my sister."

Roger was endeavouring to comfort her, but on seeing me she broke from
him and ran across the room, crying, "Edmond! Edmond!" as if she could
scarcely credit the evidence of her senses.

"Did you think I was a ghost, Jeanne?" I asked laughingly. "'Tis I,
Edmond, and very much alive, I assure you. Come, let me dry those tears;
you will spoil your pretty eyes."

"Oh, Edmond," she gasped, "I thought you were killed! And you have been
wounded! Your head is bandaged."

"I have had a very narrow escape, Jeanne; but here I am, and there is no
need for any more sorrow on my account."

"And Felix?" she cried, "has he escaped too? Where have you left him?
Ah, he is dead! I am sure of it! I can read it in your face!"

"Yes," I answered sadly, "there have been terrible doings in Paris, and
Felix is among the slain."

"And he was so brave and good!" she sobbed. "Poor Felix! Tell me about
it, Edmond."

When she had become more composed I related the story just as it had
happened, but softening down the more brutal parts lest her grief should
break out afresh. She