Chapter VII: Part 7

A number of officers and gentlemen were waiting in the vestibule to receive the Queen-mother, who however gave her hand to the Duke of Guise to assist her from her chair. On him they gazed with eyes of wonder and of scrutiny, as if they would fain have discovered what feelings were in the heart of one so hated and dreaded by the King, at a moment when he stood with closed doors within a building filled with his enemies, and surrounded by soldiers ready to massacre him at a word. But the fire which the menacing look of Crillon had brought into the eyes of the Duke had now passed away, and all was calm dignity and easy though grave self-possession. The eye wandered not round the hall; the lip, though not compressed, was firm and motionless, except when he smiled in saluting some of those around whom he knew, or in speaking a few words to the Queen-mother, whose dress had become somewhat entangled with a mantle of sables which she had worn in the chair.

As soon as it was detached, one of the officers of the household said, bowing low, "His Majesty has commanded me, Madam, to conduct you and his Highness of Guise to the chamber of her Majesty the Queen, where he waits your coming." And he led the way up the stairs of the Louvre to the somewhat extraordinary audience chamber which the King had selected.

Henry, when the party entered, was sitting near the side of the bed, surrounded by several of his officers, one of whom, Alphonzo d'Ornano by name, whispered something over the King's shoulder with his eyes fixed upon the Duke of Guise.

The words, which were, "Do you hold him for your friend or your enemy?" were spoken in such a tone as almost to reach the Duke himself. The King did not reply, but looked up at the Duke with a frown that was quite sufficient.

"Speak but the word," said Ornano in a lower tone, "speak but the word, and his head shall be at your feet in a minute."

The King measured Ornano and the Duke of Guise with his eyes, then shook his head with somewhat of a scornful smile; and then, looking up to the Duke, who had by this time come near him, he said in a dull heavy tone, "What brings you here, my cousin?"

"My Lord," replied the Duke, "I have found it absolutely necessary to present myself before your Majesty, in order to repel numerous calumnies."

"Stay, cousin of Guise," said the King; and turning to Bellievre, who stood amongst the persons behind him, he demanded abruptly, "Did you not tell me that he would not come to Paris?"

"My Lord Duke," exclaimed Bellievre, not replying directly to the King's question, but addressing the Duke, "did not your Highness assure me that you would delay your journey till I returned?"

"Yes, Monsieur de Bellievre," replied the Duke. "But you did not return."

"But I wrote you two letters, your Highness," replied Bellievre, "reiterating his Majesty's commands for you not to come to Paris."

"Those letters," replied the Duke of Guise, with a bitter smile, "like some other letters which have been written to me upon important occasions, have, from some cause, failed to reach my hands. Nevertheless, Sire, believe me when I tell you, that my object in coming is solely to prove to your Majesty that I am not guilty either of the crimes or the designs which base and grasping men have laid to my charge. Believe me, that after my devotion to God and our holy religion, there is no one whom I am so anxious to serve zealously and devotedly as your Majesty. This you will find ever, Sire, if you will but give me the opportunity of rendering you any service."

The King was about to reply, but the Queen-mother, who had advanced and stood by his side, touched his arm saying, "You have not yet spoken to me, my son." And the King turning towards her, she added something in a low voice. The King replied in the same tone; and the Duke of Guise, passing through the midst of the frowning faces ranged around the royal seat, approached the Queen-consort, the mild and unhappy Louisa, and addressed a few words to her of reverence and respect which were gratifying to her ear. He then turned once more to the King, who seemed to have heard what Catharine de Medici had to say, and having given his reply, sat in moody silence. The Queen-mother stood by with some degree of apprehension in her countenance, as if feeling very doubtful still how the affair would terminate. The brows of the courtiers were gloomy and undecided, and the few followers of the Duke of Guise ranged at some distance from the spot to which he had now advanced, kept their eyes fixed either on him or on those surrounding the King, as if, at the least menacing movement, they were ready to start forward in defence of their leader.

The only one that was perfectly calm was Guise himself; but he, retreading his steps till he stood opposite the King, again addressed the Monarch saying, "I hope, Sire, that you will give me a full opportunity of justifying myself."

"Your conduct, cousin of Guise," replied the King, "must best justify you for the past; and I shall judge by the event, of your intentions for the future."

"Let it be so," replied the Duke, "and such being the case, I will humbly take my leave of your Majesty, wishing you, from my heart, health and happiness."

Thus saying he once more bowed low, and retired from the presence of the King, followed by the gentlemen who had accompanied him. Not an individual of the palace stirred a step to conduct him on his way, though his rank, his services, his genius, and his vast renown, rendered the piece of neglect they showed disgraceful to themselves rather than injurious to him. He was accompanied from the gates of the Louvre, however, and followed to the Hotel de Guise, by an infinite number of people, who ceased not for one moment to make the streets ring with their acclamations.

Nor were these by any means composed entirely of the lowest classes of the people, the least respectable, or the least well-informed. On the contrary, it must, alas! be said, that the great majority of all that was good, upright, and noble in the city hailed his coming loudly as a security and a safeguard.

A number, an immense number, of the inferior nobility of the realm were mingled with the crowd that followed him, or joined the acclaim from the windows. The robes of the law were seen continually in the dense multitude, and almost all the courts had there numbers of their principal members; while the municipal officers of the city, with the exception of two or three, were there in a mass, accompanied by a large body of the most opulent and respectable merchants.

Thus followed, the Duke of Guise proceeded to his hotel on foot as he came, speaking from time to time with those who pressed near him with that peculiar grace which won all hearts, and smiling with the far-famed smile of his race, which was said never to fall upon any man without making him feel as if he stood in the sunshine.

Already collected on the steps of the Hotel de Guise, at the news that he was returning from the Louvre, was a group of the brightest, the bravest, the most talented, and the most beautiful of the French nobility,--Madame de Montpensier, Mademoiselle de St. Beuve, the Chevalier d'Aumale, Brissac, and a thousand others. The servants and attendants of his household in gorgeous dresses kept back the crowd with courteous words and kindly gestures; and when he reached the steps that led to the high doorway of the porter's lodge, on the right of the porte cochere, he ascended a little way amongst his gratulating friends, and then turned and bowed repeatedly to the people, pointing out here and there some of the most popular of the citizens and magistrates, and whispering a word to the nearest attendant, who instantly made his way through the crowd to the spot where the personage designated stood, and in his master's name requested that he would come in and take some refreshment.

When this was over, he again bowed and retired; and while the multitude separated, he walked on into his lordly halls with a number of persons clinging round him, whom he had not seen for months--for months which to him had been full of activity, thought, care, and peril, and to them of anxiety for the head of their race.

As he passed along, however, to a chamber where the dinner which had been prepared for him had remained untouched for many an hour, his eye fell upon a boy dressed in the habit of one of his own pages; and taking suddenly a step forward, he called the boy apart into a window, demanding eagerly, "Well, have you found your master?"

"I have, your Highness," replied the boy, "and have found means to give him the letter?"

"What!" exclaimed the Duke, "outwitted Villequier, and Pisani, and all! The wit of a page against that of a politician for a thousand crowns!"

"I dressed myself as a girl, your Highness," replied the boy, "and got into the convent, and then through a gate into what is called the rector's court, where Doctor Botholph and the Cure live, and where men are admitted, and women not shut out when they like to go in; and I got talking to the old verger of the church by the side, and he called me a pretty little fool, and said he dared to say I would soon be among the penitents within there; and with that I got him to tell me every thing, and the whole story of the young Count being brought there at night, and shut up in what are called the rector's apartments."

As he spoke, one or two of the higher class of those whom the Duke had selected from the crowd below, and who felt themselves privileged to present themselves in his private apartments, entered the hall, and instantly caught his eye.

"I cannot speak with you more at present, Ignati," he said, "nor, perhaps, during the whole day, for there is business of life and death before me; but come to me while I am rising to-morrow, and only tell me in the mean time where our poor Logeres is, for I know not what convent you mean."

"He is in the rector's court," replied the boy, "close by the convent of the Black Penitents, in the Rue St. Denis."

"By my faith!" exclaimed the Duke in no slight surprise, "I have been there this very day myself, and there the Queen-mother has made her abode for the last ten days. She must be deceiving me; and yet, perhaps, the mighty matters that occupied her mind when I saw her might have made her forget all other things. However, Logeres shall not be long so fettered. Come to me to-morrow, Ignati; come to me to-morrow, as I am rising; and in the mean time, if you can find some means of giving the Count intimation that he is not forgotten, it were all the better."

"I will try, my Lord," replied the boy. And the Duke hurried on to welcome his new guests, making them sit down at table with him, and covering them with every sort of honour and distinction.

CHAP. XIII.

In our dealings with each other there is nothing which we so much miscalculate as the ever varying value of time, and indeed it is but too natural to look upon it as it seems to us, and not as it seems to others. The slow idler on whose head it hangs heavy, holds the man of business by the button, and remorselessly robs him on the king's highway of a thing ten times more valuable than the purse that would hang him if he took it. The man of action and of business whose days seem but moments, forgets in his dealing with the long expecting applicant, and the weary petitioner, that to them each moment is far longer than his day.

The hours, not one minute of which were unfilled to the Duke of Guise, passed slowly over the head of Charles of Montsoreau, and it seemed as if the brief gleam of happiness which had come across his path had but tended to make the long solitary moments seem longer and more dreary; in fact, to give full and painful effect to solitude and want of liberty, and yet he would not have lost that gleam for all the world.

He thought of it, he dwelt upon it, he called to mind each and every particular; and, though it was crossed, as the memory of all such brief meetings are, with the recollection of a thousand things which he could have wished to have said, but which he had forgotten, and also by many a speculation of a painful kind concerning the visit of the Duke of Guise to the very place in which he was confined, without the slightest effort being made for his liberation, yet it was a consolation and a happiness and a joy to him--one of those blessings which have been stamped by the past with the irrevocable seal of enjoyment, which are our own, the unalienable jewels of our fate, held for ever in the treasury of memory.

Nothing occurred through the rest of the day to call his attention, or to rouse his feelings. He heard the distant murmur, and the shouts of the people from time to time; but the gates were now shut, and the sounds dull, and all passed on evenly till darkness shut up the world. In the mean time he knew--as if to make his state of imprisonment and inactivity more intolerable--that busy actions were taking place without, that his own fate was deciding by the hands of others, that his happiness and that of Marie de Clairvaut formed but a small matter in the great bulk of political affairs which were then being weighed between the two angry parties in the capital, and might be tossed into this scale or that, as accident, or convenience, or policy might direct.

Though he retired to rest as usual, he slept not, and ever and anon when a sort of half slumber fell upon his eyes he started up, thinking he heard some sound, a distant shout of the people, the tolling of a bell, or the roll of some far off drum. Nothing however occurred, and the night passed over as the day.

In the grey of the morning, however, just when the slow creaking of a gate, or the noise of footsteps here and there breaking the previous stillness, told that the world was beginning to awake, a few sweet notes suddenly met his ear like those of a musical instrument, and in a moment after he heard the same air which the boy Ignati had played with such exquisite skill just before he freed him from his Italian masters.

"A blessing be upon that boy," he cried, as he instantly recognised not only the sounds but the touch. "He has come to tell me that I am not forgotten."

Suddenly, however, before the air was half concluded, the music stopped, and voices were heard speaking, but not so loud that the words could be distinguished. It seemed to the young Count, and seemed truly, that some one had sent the boy away; but though he heard no more, those very sounds had given him hope and comfort.

Driven away by the old verger, who had now discovered the trick which had been put upon him the day before, the boy returned with all speed to the Hotel de Guise, and, according to the Duke's order, presented himself in his chamber at the hour of his rising. But the Duke was already surrounded with people, all eager to speak with him on different affairs, and his brow was evidently dark and clouded by some news that he had just heard.

"Send round," he was saying as the boy entered, "Send round speedily to all the inns, and let those who are known for their fidelity be informed that the doors of this hotel will never be shut against any of those who have come to Paris for my service, or for that of the church, as long as there is a chamber vacant within. And you, my good Lords," he continued, turning to some of the gentlemen who surrounded him, "I must call upon your hospitality, also, to provide lodging for these poor friends of ours, whom this new and iniquitous proceeding of the court is likely to drive from Paris. But stay, Bussi," he continued, and his eye fell upon the page as he spoke; "you say you saw the Prevot des Marchands but a minute ago in the Rue d'Anvoye seeking out the lodgers in the inns, and ordering them to quit Paris immediately. Hasten down after him quickly, and tell him from Henry of Guise that there is a very dangerous prisoner and a zealous servant of the church lodged in the Rue St. Denis; that he had better drive him forth also; and that, if he wants direction to the place where he sojourns, one of my pages shall lead him thither. You may add, moreover, that if he do not drive him forth, I will bring him forth before the world be a day older."

The Duke of Guise then took the pen from the ink which was standing before him, and, though not yet half-dressed, wrote hastily the few following words to the Queen-mother:--

"Madam,

"I am informed, on authority which I cannot doubt, that my friend, the young Count de Logeres, is at present in your hands, kept under restraint in the Rue St. Denis, after having been arrested in the execution of business with which I charged him, while bearing a passport from the King. I beseech you to set him immediately at liberty, and also at once to order that my niece and ward, Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, be brought to the Hotel de Guise without an hour's delay. Let me protest to your Majesty that you have not a more faithful and devoted servant than

"Henry of Guise."

"I will not send this by you, Ignati," said the Duke; "they would laugh at a boy. Here, Mestroit, bear this to the Queen-mother. Say I cast myself at her feet; and bring me back an answer without delay.--Why, how now, St. Paul!" he continued, turning to a gentleman who had just entered. "Your brow is as dark as a thunder-cloud. What has happened now? Shall we be obliged to make our hotel our fortress, and defend it to the last, like gallant men?"

"Not so, my Lord," replied the Count of St. Paul; "not near so bad as that: but still these are times that make men look thoughtful; and, depend upon it, the King, aided by his minions and the Politics[7], is seeking to inclose your Highness, as it were in a net."

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[Footnote 7: That party was so called which affected to hold the balance between the Court and the League, without giving countenance to the Huguenots.]

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"We will break through, St. Paul! We will break through!" replied the Duke with a smile. "But what are your tidings?"

"Why, that orders have been sent to the Swiss to come up from Corbeil, as well as those from Meulan and Chateau Thierry; also the companies of French guards from every quarter in the neighbourhood are called for, and I myself saw come in, by the Faubourg St. Germain, a body of two hundred horse, which, upon inquiry, I found to be a new levy from some place in the South, led by a young Marquis of Montsoreau, whose name I never heard of before."

"Whenever you hear it again, St. Paul," replied the Duke sternly, "couple with it the word 'Traitor!' and you will do him justice. But what force is it said they are bringing into Paris? What stay you for, Mestroit?" he continued, seeing that the gentleman to whom he had given the letter had not taken his departure. "What stay you for? I would have had you there now. Go with all speed! There are horses enough saddled in the court. I would give a thousand crowns that letter should be in the Queen's hand before this youth's coming is known to her. It may save us much trouble hereafter. Fail not to bring me an answer quick. Now, St. Paul, how many men say you on your best judgment are they bringing into Paris?"

"Why, your Highness," replied the Count, "some say ten thousand; but, to judge more moderately from what I hear, the moment your Highness's arrival in Paris was known, orders were sent for the march of full seven thousand men."

"We must be very formidable creatures, Brissac," cried the Duke, "that my coming with seven of you should need seven thousand men to meet us. On my soul, they will make me think myself a giant. I always thought I was a tall man--some six foot three, I believe--but, by Heavens! I must be a Gargantua, indeed, to need seven thousand men to hold me. Seven thousand men!" he added thoughtfully: "he has not got them, St. Paul. There are not five thousand within fifty miles of Paris, unless Epernon and Villequier have contrived to raise more of such Montsoreaus against us. However, we must have eyes in all quarters. Send out parties to watch the coming of the troops and give us their numbers. Let some one speak to the inferior officers of the French guards, and remind them that the Duke of Guise and the Holy League are only striving for the maintenance of the true faith, and for the overthrow of those minions who have swallowed up all the honours and favours of the crown. It were well also, Brissac, that a good watch was kept upon the proceedings in the city. I can trust, methinks, to The Sixteen to do all that is necessary in their different quarters, and to make full reports of all that takes place; but still a military eye were as well here and there, from time to time, Brissac, and I will trust that to you."

The rest of the morning passed in the same incessant activity with which it had begun; tidings were constantly brought in from all parts of the town and the country round concerning every movement on the part of the court; and the hotel of the Duc de Guise was literally besieged by his followers and partisans. Train after train of noblemen and officers, of lawyers and citizens, followed each other during the whole day, each bringing him information, or claiming audience on some account. Nor were the clergy less numerous; for scarce a parish in the capital but sent forth, in the course of that day, its train of priests and monks to congratulate him on his arrival, or to beseech him to hold up the tottering church of France with a strong hand.

At the same time, the order which had been given by the King in the morning, for every stranger not domiciled in Paris to quit it within six hours, and the proceedings of the Prevot des Marchands to execute that order had--by driving out of the inns and taverns the multitudes of the Duke's partisans who had followed him in scattered bodies into Paris--now filled the Hotel de Guise with all those of the higher classes who were thus expelled. The houses of other members of the faction received the rest. But the stables of the hotel were all filled to the doors; the great court itself could scarcely be crossed, on account of the number of horses; and more than once the street became impassable from the multitude of carriages, chairs, horses, and attendants, who were waiting while their masters conferred with the Duke.

It was near mid-day when the gentleman who had been dispatched to Catharine de Medici again presented himself; and the Duke demanded, somewhat impatiently, what had detained him so long.

"It was the Queen-mother, your Highness," replied Mestroit. "More than an hour passed before I could obtain an audience; and when I was admitted to present your Highness's letter, I found Monsieur de Villequier with her."

"Did she show the letter to that son of Satan?" demanded the Duke.

"No, sir," replied the other; "on the contrary, she seemed not to wish that he should see it, for she kept it tight in her hand after she had read it, and told me to wait a moment, that she would give me an answer directly."

"I would sooner unriddle the enigma of the sphynx," said the Duke, "than I would say from what motive any one of that woman's acts proceed; and yet she has a great mind, and a heart not altogether so vicious as it seems. What happened then, Mestroit?"

"Why, my Lord, Villequier seemed anxious to know what the letter contained, and I saw his head a little raised, and his eyes turned quietly towards it while she was reading, as I have seen a cat regard a mouse-hole towards which she was stealing upon tiptoes; and he lingered long, and seem inclined to stay. The Queen, however, begged him not to forget the orders she had given, but to execute them instantly; and then he went away. When he was gone, the Queen again read your Highness's letter, and replied at first, 'The Duke asks what is not in my power. Tell my noble cousin of Guise that he has been misinformed; that I hold none of his friends in my power--' Then, after a moment, she bade me wait, and she would see what persuasion would do?"

"She must not think to deceive me!" replied the Duke of Guise. "But what more?"

"She went away," replied the gentleman, "and was absent for full two hours, leaving me there alone, with nothing to amuse me but the pages and serving women that came and looked at me from time to time as at a tiger in a cage. At length she came back, and bade me tell your Highness these exact words: 'My cousin has been misinformed. I have none of his people in my hands, or in my power. The Count of Logeres, however, shall be set free before eight and forty hours are over. He may be set free to-morrow; but by leaving him for a few hours more where he is, I trust to accomplish for the Duke that which he demands concerning his ward, although I have no power whatever in the matter."

"There is nothing upon earth," said the Duke thoughtfully, "so convenient as to have the reality without the name of power. We have the pleasure without the reproach! Catharine de Medici has not the power!--Who then has?--I may have the power also, it is true, to right myself and those who attach themselves to me; and in this instance I will use it. But still it were better to wait the time she states; for I know her fair Majesty well, and she never yields any thing without a delay, to make what she grants seem more important:--and yet, the day after to-morrow--the day after to-morrow--who shall say what may be, ere the day after to-morrow comes? This head may be lowly in the dust ere then."

"Or circled with the crown of France," said the Count de St. Paul.

"God forbid!" exclaimed the Duke earnestly. If I thought that it would ever produce a scheme to wrest the sceptre from the line that rightfully holds it, I would bear it to-morrow to the foot of the throne, myself, as my own accuser. No, no! bad kings may die or be deposed: but there is still some one on whose brow the crown descends by right. And let him have it.

"The Cardinal of Bourbon, your Highness," said an attendant entering, "has just arrived from Soissons. His Eminence is upon the stairs coming up."

A smile played over the lips of most of the persons present at such an announcement at that moment, for every one well knew that it was to the old Cardinal de Bourbon that the party of the League looked, as the successor to the crown on the death of Henry III., to the exclusion of the direct line of Navarre, held to be incapable of succeeding on account of religion. The Duke, however, advanced immediately with open arms to meet the Cardinal, and many hours were passed in long conferences between them and the principal officers and supporters of the League.

At the end of that time, however, towards seven o'clock, a message was brought into the room where they were in consultation, from Monsieur de Sainctyon, a well-known adherent of the League, begging earnestly to speak with the Duke upon matters of deep importance. On the Duke going out, he found the worthy Leaguer in a state of great excitement and agitation.

"My Lord," he said, as soon as Guise appeared in the room where he had been left alone, "I fear that they are busily labouring, at the palace, for the destruction of your Highness and of the Holy League."

"How so, Monsieur de Sainctyon?" demanded the Duke, who entertained doubts, it seems, of the Leaguer's sincerity, which were never wholly removed. "Some of my friends have just returned from the palace, who tell me that all is as still and quite as the inside of a vault."

"They told your Highness also, I hope," said the Leaguer, "that they had trebled the guard, both Swiss and French."

"Yes, I was informed of that," replied the Duke. "But that shows fear, not daring, Monsieur de Sainctyon."

"Perhaps so, my Lord," replied Sainctyon, who was one of the echevins, or sheriffs of the town; "but perhaps not. However, what I have now to tell, shows more daring than fear. We were summoned this afternoon at five o'clock to the Hotel de Ville, where we found not only Pereuse, the Prevot, and Le Comte, who is worse than a Politic, and half a Huguenot, but the Marquis d'O----"

"Who is worse," said the Duke of Guise, "than minion, or Politic, or Huguenot, or reiter, equally foul in his debaucheries and his peculations; equally impudent in his vices and his follies; fit son-in-law of Villequier; well-chosen master of the wardrobe to the King of France! Who was there besides, Monsieur de Sainctyon? Some expedient infamy was of course to be committed, otherwise d'O---- would not have been there."

"There were a number of captains and colonels of the different quarters," replied Sainctyon, well pleased to see that the Duke now felt the importance of his intelligence, "and the Prevot and Le Comte began to speak what seemed to me at first simple nonsense, in a confused way, saying, that it was necessary to keep guard in a very different manner in Paris from that which we were accustomed to use, for that your coming had excited the minds of the people, and that there was hourly danger of a revolt, and that it would be better for all the captains to meet with their companies together in some particular place, in order to see to the matter. But I replied, that nothing could be more dangerous than that which was proposed, for that the companies of armed citizens would be much better as usual, each in its separate quarter, taking care of that quarter, rather than meeting altogether in one large body of armed men, which was likely to cause a tumult immediately. A number of the other colonels cried out the same thing; but then Monsieur d'O---- cut us all short, saying, 'Give me none of your reasons, gentlemen. What the Prevot has stated to you is the will of the King, and he _must_ be obeyed. The place of your meeting is the Cemetery of the Innocents, and there you are all expected to be with your companies at nine o'clock this evening.' Now, my Lord, I have come to your Highness, by the authority of all the other colonels in whom we can trust, for counsel and direction in this business, assuring you that we have heard it is the intention of the Court to pick out from amongst us thus assembled six or seven of your most zealous friends and supporters, and execute them early to-morrow in the Place de Greve."

The Duke paused and thought for a moment ere he replied; but he then said, "I thank you most sincerely, Monsieur de Sainctyon, for the intelligence you have brought me. You are mistaken, however, with regard to what are the intentions of the Court, as you will see in one moment. The large body of men in arms which you will have with you when all assembled together, trebles the number of any force in Paris, so that the least attempt to do you wrong at that moment would be a signal for the overthrow of the monarchy. On the contrary, Monsieur de Sainctyon, I believe the thus calling you together in one place has solely for its object to remove you from the quarters where your presence would be useful in opposition to the iniquitous proceedings of your enemies. To arrest somebody--perhaps myself--is doubtless the object of these persons; and if you would follow my advice, the course you pursue would be this,--to meet as you have been ordered by the King, having first communicated all the facts to the persons under your command whom you can trust. Some one will come to bring you farther orders, depend upon it; find out what those orders are, and let them instantly be communicated to me; but on no account or consideration suffer yourselves to be kept together in one place. On the contrary, as soon as you have discovered as far as possible what the designs of your enemies are, lead your companies to their different quarters, or wherever you may think best to station them. If you want any farther assistance, send hither; and I will dispatch experienced officers to take counsel with you as to what is to be done. I hope your opinion coincides with mine, Monsieur de Sainctyon."

"Your words always carry conviction with them, my Lord," replied the sheriff; "and I will instantly proceed to obey you."

Thus saying he took his leave, and quitted the Duke, hastening with the rest of the officers of the city to arm himself cap-a-pie, and present himself with the burgher guard in the Cemetery of the Innocents at the appointed hour. When that hour arrived, every thing through the rest of the city was dark and silent, and but little light shone from the dim lanterns round the Cemetery upon the dark masses of armed men that now surrounded it. The officers commanding them looked in each other's faces, as if expecting that some one amongst them had orders in regard to what they were farther to do, but for several minutes no one announced himself as empowered to direct them, and they had even proposed to separate, when the sheriff Le Comte arrived on horseback at great haste from the side of the Louvre. Having called the colonels of the quarters together he said, "The King, having been informed that this night an enterprise is to be undertaken against his authority by his enemies, trusts entirely to his citizens of Paris for the defence of the capital, and consequently commands you, in order to have a strong point of resistance, to occupy this Cemetery, of which I have here the keys, till to-morrow morning. All the gates will be shut except one wicket, and in a very short time the Marquis de Beauvais Nangis, an experienced officer, will be sent down by the King to command you."[8]

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[Footnote 8: This most absurd and impudent proposal would scarcely be credited, were it not to be found in the _Histoire tres veritable, &c_., written by Sainctyon himself, and published by Michel Jouin in the very year 1588.]

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A murmur ran through the officers and through the men, who, as Le Comte spoke loud, heard every word that passed; but an old captain of one of the quarters burst forth, a moment after, exclaiming, "What, shut myself up there, as if in a prison? They must think me mad! Not I, indeed, for any of them! I have nothing to do with you, Monsieur le Comte, nor with any of you, except with the inhabitants of my own quarter, and there I shall go directly. Those may go and shut themselves up with you that like. Come, my men; march! Who gave Beauvais Nangis a right to command me, I should like to know? Not the citizens of Paris, I'm sure: so those may obey him that like him." And putting himself at the head of his men, he marched out, followed by almost all the other companies except one or two, who suffered themselves to be persuaded to enter into the Cemetery, where they were locked up by Le Compte, to await whatever fate might befall them.

In the mean time the other officers of the burgher guard held a consultation together, and determined, instead of proceeding immediately to their different quarters to occupy the principal points of the city, where they fancied that attempts might be made upon the life or liberty of the chiefs of the League. The avenues to the Hotel de Guise were strongly guarded, the Rue St. Denis was patrolled by a large party, two companies occupied the Rue St. Honore, and the utility of these precautions was strongly demonstrated ere they had been long taken.

Before midnight the sound of horses was heard by the two companies in the Rue St. Honore, and in a moment after appeared the Marquis d'O----, with as many horse arquebusiers as could be spared from the palace. The citizens stood to their arms and barred the way, and d'O----, never very famous for his courage, demanded, in evident trepidation and surprise, what they did there, when they had been ordered to be in the Cemetery of the Innocents?

"We came here to do our duty to our fellow-citizens," replied the same old captain who had spoken before, "and to guard our houses and our property, for which purpose we are enrolled."

"Well, well, you are right," replied the Marquis, evidently confounded and undecided; and turning his horse's rein he rode back by the same way he came, showing evidently that he had been bound upon some attempt which had been frustrated.

About the same time the party in the Rue St. Denis had been drawn towards the further end by the noise of horses and the light of torches; and on advancing they found a number of men on horseback, and a vacant carriage, with two lights before it, just halting at the Convent of the Black Penitents. The good citizens, however, were in an active and interfering mood, and they determined to inquire into an occurrence which otherwise would have passed over without the slightest notice. The horsemen, however, did not wait for many questions; but, evidently as much surprised and embarrassed as the Marquis d'O----, turned their horses' heads, and made the best of their way out of the street.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

London:
Printed by A. Spottiswoode,
New-Street-Square.