It was the evening of August 20. The Louvre was brilliantly illuminated; the gardens and the various apartments were crowded with the beauty and nobility of France. Catholics and Huguenots mingled together on the friendliest terms; everything pointed to peace and goodwill. Henry of Navarre and his handsome queen were there, and so were Monseigneur and Henry of Guise.

One could hardly think of danger in the midst of so much mirth and gaiety, and yet, though unseen by us, the shadow of death was hovering very near!

Felix and I had gone to the palace together, but, as he basely deserted me for Jeanne, I was left to wander about alone. I was, however, by no means depressed by my isolation. The lights, the music, the beauty of the ladies, and the handsome uniforms of the men, all filled me with the liveliest pleasure, and two hours rapidly slipped by.

Now and again I exchanged greetings with some cavalier whose acquaintance I had made during my stay in the city, and amongst others I met the Catholic officer who had befriended me on the night of my arrival in Paris.

“This is far better than cutting each other’s throats, monsieur,” said he, with a wave of his hand. “Your Henry of Navarre has proved a real peacemaker!”

“And the king!” I responded, unwilling to be outdone in generosity. “We must not forget his part in bringing about this happy state of affairs!”

“Nor the noble Coligny’s. I expect the Admiral has had more to do with it than both the others.”

Now it was exceedingly pleasant to hear my patron praised in this way by one of his opponents, and I began to think that after all our prospects were less gloomy than the conversation of my comrades would lead one to suppose.

Toward midnight I was crossing the hall in order to speak with Felix and my sister, who were standing with the Countess Guichy and several ladies, when I caught sight of Renaud L’Estang. He had been in attendance upon Monseigneur, but was now at liberty. Turning aside, I went to meet him, intending to thank him for his timely warning.

“Ah, monsieur,” said he pleasantly, “I have been looking for you. I have something to say, and one can talk without fear in a crowded room. But do not let people guess by your face that I am saying anything serious. That lady,” and he glanced toward Jeanne, “is, I believe, your sister?”

“Yes,” I replied, wondering what he could say which concerned Jeanne.

“Listen,” he continued. “I have tried to keep the promise made to you that miserable night in Rochelle.”

“You have more than kept your promise,” I interrupted eagerly.

“I have done what I could. It is not much, but enough perhaps to show I am your friend. Now, ask me no questions; I cannot reply to them; but for the love you bear your sister answer what I ask you. Can you make an excuse to leave Paris?”

“And desert my patron?”

“No,” said he thoughtfully, “it is too much to expect from a man of honour; but there is your servant! He is shrewd and capable, and will fight to the death in your sister’s defence.”

“Yes,” I exclaimed, “you judge him rightly.”

“Do not start; keep a smile on your face, but understand all the time that I am speaking of a matter of life and death. Invent what excuse you like, but to-morrow morning send Jacques to Rochelle in charge of your sister, and let him make no delay on the road. Brush aside all objections; do not be influenced by any one; follow my advice, and I pledge my word that you will not regret it.”

“This is somewhat startling!” I exclaimed; “you must have some good reasons for such advice as this. Can you not trust me?”

“Monsieur,” he replied a little bitterly, “I have already told you that I have my own code of honour. It sounds strange from the lips of an adventurer, does it not? But I cannot betray the man whose bread I eat. As a matter of fact, I know nothing; to-morrow I may know more that is why I am speaking to-night. Now I must leave you, but I say again with all the earnestness I possess, send your sister to Rochelle in the morning, even if you have to force her to go!”

Raising his voice he uttered some commonplace about the brilliancy of the scene, smiled brightly, waved his hand, and disappeared, leaving me lost in wonder and perplexity.

What was the meaning of this strange warning? He was in deadly earnest; of that there could be no doubt, and yet he refused to give me the slightest clue to the mystery. But perhaps that very refusal would help to reveal the secret! I must discuss the matter with Felix, and meanwhile try to bear myself as if nothing had happened.

As a matter of precaution, however, I told Jeanne I had received news from Rochelle, and that it might be necessary for her to travel to that town.

“There is nothing at which to be alarmed,” I continued, “but we will talk about it to-morrow. If it really becomes necessary for you to go, I shall want you to depart without delay.”

Jeanne was a brave girl. “Do you fear danger, Edmond?” she asked. “If there is danger, I will stay and share it with you.”

“What a queer fancy!” I exclaimed lightly. “It is just a little matter in which you can be of assistance to the Cause”; at which she smiled, saying, “Anything I can do for the Cause, Edmond, I will do willingly.”

“Even leave Paris!” I laughed, and having driven away her fears I left her.

Felix was very bright and joyous that night, and so merry in himself that he failed to notice my thoughtfulness. I said nothing of L’Estang’s communication until we were alone in our room, when I told him the story.

I had not to ask for his opinion. Almost before I had finished, he exclaimed with decision, “Whatever this does or does not mean, Jeanne must go to Rochelle. L’Estang has proved himself your friend; he can have no reason for deceiving you.”

“I will answer for L’Estang’s loyalty.”

“Then send Jeanne away; or, rather, take her yourself.”

“That is impossible! If there is anything in L’Estang’s story, it points to a plot against our chief. He is evidently afraid of trouble, perhaps of fierce fighting between the two parties, and thinks my sister would be safer out of the city.”

“He gave you no hint?”

“Not the slightest. He said he knew nothing, but had he known he would not have betrayed his own party. We must remember that though he has done so much for me, he belongs to the side of our opponents. It must have cost him a struggle to tell what he did.”

“Yes,” said Felix thoughtfully, “between loyalty to his party and friendship for you he was in a cleft stick! You will repeat the story to our patron?”

“To what end? He has received dozens of warnings! Still, I will tell him.”

I obtained little sleep that night; spending the hours tossing restlessly, turning from side to side, wondering what the danger was which had induced L’Estang to give this indirect but ominous warning. As soon as the household began to stir, I rose and dressed, eager to seek an interview with Coligny.

He was already dressed and busy with Des Pruneaux, but he spoke to me graciously and with the kindly interest that he ever showed.

“You must not keep me long, Le Blanc,” he said, laying a hand on my shoulder in his fatherly manner.

“My lord,” I replied, “you shall have my story in the fewest possible words. I think it is of the greatest importance, but in any case I am bound to tell you! When we were in Rochelle, I did a simple service for one of our opponents.”

“A good deed ever brings forth good fruit, my boy.”

“It did in this instance, my lord. The man, who is in the pay of Monseigneur, has since proved a faithful friend in connexion with my private affairs. I owe him my life. He is, I believe deep in the secrets of his party, but these he has never revealed, and I have never asked him.”

“Quite right,” observed the Admiral.

“Since the death of Queen Joan, my sister has lived in Paris with the Countess Guichy. Last night this strange friend of mine advised me with the utmost earnestness to have her conveyed to Rochelle. He gave me no reason, but from his manner I am sure he fears something terrible is about to happen. ‘Invent what excuse you like,’ said he, ’but to-morrow morning send Jacques’ that is my servant ’to Rochelle in charge of your sister, and let him make no delay on the road.’ There must be some grave reason for his advice, my lord.”

“You have no doubt of this man’s friendship?”

“Not a shadow of doubt; he has proved it to the hilt.”

“Then your sister must leave Paris promptly, and she shall carry a letter from me to the commandant. That will furnish an excuse for her hurried departure. I will write it immediately.”

“But, my lord,” I said hesitatingly, for it ever required some courage to hint that he should take measures for his personal safety, “it is of the possible peril to yourself I am thinking.”

“I do not believe there is any danger,” he replied; “but I am in the hands of God, Le Blanc. If He, in His wisdom, and for His own good purpose, wills that I should die at my post, I am content. Now, Des Pruneaux shall write the letter, and after breakfast you shall take it to your sister.”

I went out, and writing a note to Jeanne, bidding her get ready for an early start, sent it off by Jacques.

“I wonder,” said Felix, “if your friend’s warning has anything to do with the king’s fresh move. Last night twelve hundred of the guards marched into Paris, and are quartered near the Louvre.”

“They may be wanted to overawe Guise and Anjou,” I suggested. “If so, it was a wise step to take.”

“Yes, if so!” he agreed, but the tone of his voice did not imply much confidence in my suggestion.

As soon as Jacques returned, I told him to prepare for a journey to Rochelle, dwelling strongly upon the necessity for the greatest expedition.

“There is some danger threatening you,” exclaimed the trusty fellow.

“No more than there was yesterday, Jacques; but I am uneasy about my sister, and would rather she were behind the walls of La Rochelle.”

“I do not like leaving you, monsieur.”

“You must, Jacques; there is no one else to whom I would care to entrust my sister. But not a word to her of the real reason! She must imagine she is doing us a service or she will not stir; so we are sending her with a letter from the Admiral to the commandant at Rochelle.”

When Felix and I went to the house, we were received by the countess, who was not at all pleased by the news of Jeanne’s approaching departure. “What new conspiracy is this,” she asked, “that you need a young girl for an ally? Have you not men enough to do your work?”

“Ah,” laughed Felix playfully, “you wish to discover our secrets. It is quite useless, my lady; we are proof against all your wiles; but on her return, Mademoiselle Jeanne shall tell you herself; you won’t be able to do any mischief then!”

“You are a saucy boy!” exclaimed the countess, pinching his ear. “And pray, which of you is to be Jeanne’s escort?”

“I am sending my servant,” I answered. “He is very trustworthy, and will guard her with his own life.”

“Do you intend your sister to walk to Rochelle?” she asked, the humorous twinkle coming back to her eyes.

“I am going to procure a carriage.”

“You will do nothing of the kind!” she declared emphatically. “I am not supposed to be acquainted with your stupid plots, and your sister shall go to Rochelle in my carriage, drawn by my horses, and driven by my coachman. The poor beasts will probably die of the plague in that gloomy hole, but they must take their chance. Now, do not speak! I am not to be lectured by two giddy boys. And do not kiss me, Felix! What I am doing is for Jeanne. Perhaps when they cut off my head for joining in your horrid conspiracy you will be sorry. Now, have the horses put into the carriage, while I see Jeanne.”

“She is a generous soul!” exclaimed Felix, as we left the room. “She has many strange whims, but no one could be more loyal to a friend, and she has grown to love Jeanne very dearly.”

“She is exceedingly kind,” I said, “and the more so since we have no claims on her generosity.”

By the time Jacques arrived everything was ready, and we had only to bid my sister good-bye. She bore up bravely, but the parting was a painful one, for in our hearts both Felix and I had an uneasy feeling that we were saying farewell to her for ever. Of this, fortunately, she had no suspicion, and she promised the countess to return directly the business with the commandant was finished.

“Remember,” I whispered to Jacques, as the coachman gathered up the reins, “there must be no delay. Reach Rochelle as quickly as possible, and keep your mistress there until I send to you. The commandant, who will understand the real purpose of the journey, will help you.”

Jacques drew up beside the carriage; Jeanne, leaning out, fluttered her dainty handkerchief; we waved our hands in response, and she was gone.

“Jeanne is a brave girl and a good girl,” said the countess. “I wish she were my daughter. And now, you two villains, who have deprived an old woman of her only pleasure in life, leave me. I am going to my room, where I can cry comfortably. I am not so young that tears will spoil my eyes.”

On our way back to the Hotel Coligny we encountered Monseigneur, with a body of his gentlemen, riding through the city. Numerous persons were in the streets, and as he passed by, bowing and smiling graciously, they greeted him with cheers.

“Anjou has some purpose in doing that,” remarked Felix; but I made no answer, being occupied in watching L’Estang, who rode in the very rear of the cavalcade. He had caught sight of me, and while still looking straight before him he raised his hand, pointing significantly to the west. I nodded my head, and with a smile of satisfaction he rode on.

“Did you notice that?” I asked.

“Yes,” replied Felix, “but without understanding.”

“The meaning was plain enough. He was asking if Jeanne had gone, and I answered ‘Yes.’”

“He takes a great interest in your sister,” said Felix a trifle discontentedly.

“Because she is my sister,” I replied. “Listen, the worthy citizens are cheering for Guise now.”

“I suppose he is parading the streets as well. What a pack of fools these Parisians are!”

“If they cheered for Coligny,” I laughed, “you would credit them with all the wisdom under the sun. So much depends on one’s point of view!”

“Edmond! Felix! Why do you look so astonished? Do you fancy I am a spirit? Feel my hand; that is substantial enough, is it not?” and Roger Braund laughed heartily as he crossed the lobby of the Admiral’s house toward us.

“You in Paris!” I exclaimed, after we had exchanged greetings, “when did you arrive? How long have you been here?”

“An hour,” he replied cheerfully. “Is your sister well, Edmond?”

“Quite well, thank you. She is on the way to Rochelle; but come to our room, where we can talk more privately.”

He accompanied us to our room, and I told him the story as it has been set down here.

“You did right,” said he thoughtfully! “Paris just now is no place for her. But this journey to Rochelle is a hazardous venture with only Jacques to protect her!”

“Jacques is a man of courage and discretion!” exclaimed Felix, with rather more heat than was necessary.

“Jacques is a brave fellow,” agreed Roger, “but he is only one man. Edmond, with your leave, I will set out after the travellers, and assist Jacques in guarding your sister.”

“You will have but a short stay in Paris,” remarked Felix.

“I shall return quickly to offer my sword to your chief. From Edmond’s story, I fancy he will have need of all his friends. I left my horse at an inn; it is a fine beast, and is thoroughly rested now. I will start immediately. No, I am not hungry; I have made a substantial meal. I shall come straight here on my return. Good-bye to you both. Directly I have placed Mademoiselle Jeanne in safety you will see me again?”

We had scarcely time to answer before he had gone, and from the window I saw him speeding along the street as if he feared the loss of a single second would overthrow all his plans.