“Well, he is making good progress even in that!” I replied cheerfully.

I have said that the hotel was in the Rue de l’Arbre Sec, at the corner of the Rue de Bethisy, and we were passing along the Rue des Fosses de St. Germain, when a man approached the Admiral with what looked like a petition.  We quickened our pace, but the citizen was an inoffensive person, and the Admiral, taking the paper, began to read, walking on slowly the while.

He turned the corner in front of us, and was hidden for an instant from our view, when we heard a loud report.

“Treachery!” cried my comrade, drawing his sword, and with a rush we sped round the corner.  My heart leaped into my mouth as I realized what had happened.  There was our noble chief, the truest, bravest, most chivalrous man in France, supported in De Guerchy’s arms.

Des Pruneaux, who was stanching the blood with a handkerchief, pointed to the latticed windows of the Hotel de Retz on our right, and, understanding it was from there the assassin had fired, we ran across, my comrade’s cries of “For the Admiral!” bringing out a number of Huguenot gentlemen who lodged in the neighbourhood.

“This way!” I cried excitedly, “the assassin is in this house!” and the next minute, having burst open the doors, we were swarming into the building.  Save for a deaf old woman and a horse-boy the place was empty, and a howl of rage rose from the searchers.

Nothing could be got from the old woman, but Felix, clutching the boy by the throat, demanded sternly “Where is the assassin?  Speak, or I will kill you!”

“The man who was upstairs has got away through the cloisters, monsieur.  I do not know him.  I was only told to bring a swift horse from my master’s stables.”

“Who is your master?”

“The Duke of Guise, monsieur,” and at that another howl of execration went up, several men shouting “Guise is the murderer!  Kill the Duke of Guise!”

“Whose house is this?” I asked.

The boy could not answer, but a voice cried out “Canon Vallemur’s!  He used to be the Duke’s tutor!  Guise is the assassin!”

“Yes, yes!  Let us kill Guise!”

“Here is the weapon,” cried one of the searchers, bringing forward an arquebus which he had found in the window; “it has Monseigneur’s arms stamped on it; it must belong to one of his body-guard.  Guise and Anjou are the murderers!”

“Come,” exclaimed Felix, “we can do nothing here; the fellow is out of the city by now!”

An excited crowd had gathered in front of the Hotel Coligny, but, pushing the people roughly aside, we made our way into the courtyard.

“Is he dead?” asked Felix of one of our comrades.

“No; one bullet carried off the first finger of his right hand; the other wounded him seriously in the left arm.  Pare”—­the king’s own surgeon—­“is attending him.  They say Charles is furious, but I do not know; all his family are accomplished actors.  Were you there?  Did you see it done?  Tell us all about it,” and they gathered round as Felix described the incident and the search in the empty house.