[Illustration:  “Some of them as we passed muttered violent threats.”]

“Charles hasn’t increased his popularity by this marriage!” I remarked.

“No,” said one of my comrades, “he has lost ground among the Parisians.  It will frighten him; he will be more afraid of Guise than ever.  How the fools roared for the duke!  Perhaps they would like him for king!  They would find they had their master, for all his smooth speech and courtly manners.”

“The people’s coldness may do good in one way,” remarked Felix.  “Charles may rush into a war with Spain, thinking that a brilliant victory or two would win back his popularity.”

“The war with Spain will never come about,” growled a grizzled veteran, who had fought with Coligny on his earliest battle-field.  “Guise, the Pope, Monseigneur, and the Queen-Mother are all against it, and Charles is just a lump of clay in their hands:  they can mould him as they please.”

“Well,” exclaimed Felix, as we entered the courtyard, “in my opinion it’s either a Spanish war, or a civil war, and Charles must take his choice.”

CHAPTER XXIV

A Mysterious Warning

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.