high pitch, the marquis seemed impelled to add something. 'You quite
understand M. de Rosny?' he said. 'Without saying anything disparaging
of M. de Marsac, who is, no doubt, a man of honour'--and he bowed to me
very low--'this is a delicate matter, and you will introduce no one into
it, I am sure, whom you cannot trust as yourself.'

'Precisely,' M. de Rosny replied, speaking drily, yet with a grand
air which fully matched his companion's. 'I am prepared to trust this
gentleman not only with my life but with my honour.'

'Nothing more remains to be said then,' the marquis rejoined, bowing
to me again. 'I am glad to have been the occasion of a declaration so
flattering to you, sir.'

I returned his salute in silence, and obeying M. de Rosny's muttered
direction put on, my cloak and sword. M. de Rosny took up his pistols.

'You will have no need of those,' the Marquis said with a high glance.

'Where we are going, no,' my companion answered, calmly continuing to
dispose them about him. 'But the streets are dark and not too safe.'

M. de Rambouillet laughed. 'That is the worst of you Huguenots,' he
said. 'You never know when to lay suspicion aside.'

A hundred retorts sprang to my lips. I thought of the Bartholomew, of
the French fury of Antwerp, of half a dozen things which make my blood
boil to this day. But M. de Rosny's answer was the finest of all.
'That is true, I am afraid,' he said quietly. 'On the other hand, you
Catholics--take the late M. de Guise for instance--have the habit of
erring on the other side, I think, and sometimes trust too far.'

The marquis, without making any answer to this home-thrust, led the way
out, and we followed, being joined at the door of the house by a couple
of armed lackeys, who fell in behind us. We went on foot. The night was
dark, and the prospect out of doors was not cheering. The streets were
wet and dirty, and notwithstanding all our care we fell continually into
pitfalls or over unseen obstacles. Crossing the PARVIS of the cathedral,
which I remembered, we plunged in silence into an obscure street near
the river, and so narrow that the decrepit houses shut out almost
all view of the sky. The gloom of our surroundings, no less than my
ignorance of the errand on which we were bound, filled me with anxiety
and foreboding. My companions keeping strict silence, however, and
taking every precaution to avoid being recognised, I had no choice but
to do likewise.

I could thi