and that he would do well to take care of himself.  “No matter, no matter,” he answered; “it will be as God pleases when my hour has come.”  Next day he was told that those men were approaching his house, and he was asked whether he would not have the gates shut against them, and have them fired upon, in case they attempted to force an entrance.  “No,” said he, “if the small gate will not do for them to enter by, let the big one be opened.”  A few hours afterwards, L’Hospital was informed that the king and the queen-mother were sending other horsemen to protect him.  “I didn’t know,” said the old man, “that I had deserved either death or pardon.”  A rumor of his death flew abroad amongst his enemies, who rejoiced at it.  “We are told,” wrote Cardinal Granvelle to his agent at Brussels (October 8, 1572), “that the king has had Chancellor de l’Hospital and his wife despatched, which would be a great blessing.”  The agent, more enlightened than his chief, denied the fact, adding, “They are a fine bit of rubbish left, L’Hospital and his wife.”  Charles IX. wrote to his old adviser to reassure him, “loving you as I do.”  Some time after, however, he demanded of him his resignation of the title of chancellor, wishing to confer it upon La Birague, to reward him for his co-operation in the St. Bartholomew.  L’Hospital gave in his resignation on the 1st of February, 1573, and died six weeks afterwards, on the 18th of March.  “I am just at the end of my long journey, and shall have no more business but with God,” he wrote to the king and the queen-mother.  “I implore Him to give you His grace, and to lead you with His hand in all your affairs, and in the government of this great and beautiful kingdom which He hath committed to your keeping, with all gentleness and clemency towards your good subjects, in imitation of Himself, who is good and, patient in bearing our burdens, and prompt to forgive you and pardon you everything.”

From the 24th to the 31st of August, 1572, the bearing and conduct of Charles IX. and the queen-mother produced nothing but a confused mass of orders and counter-orders, affirmations and denials, words and actions incoherent and contradictory, all caused by a habit of lying and the desire of escaping from the peril or embarrassment of the moment.  On the very first day of the massacre, about midday, the provost of tradesmen and the sheriffs, who had not taken part in the “Paris matins,” came complaining to the king “of the pillage, sack, and murder which were being committed by many belonging to the suite of his Majesty, as well as to those of the princes, princesses, and lords of the court, by noblemen, archers, and soldiers of the guard, as well as by all sorts of gentry and people mixed with them and under their wing.”  Charles ordered them “to get on horseback, take with them all the forces in the city, and keep their eyes open day and night to put a stop to the said murder, pillage, and sedition arising,” he said, “because