Felix turned to me with a look of horror.  “It is a planned massacre!” he exclaimed, “our comrades will be murdered in their beds!”

We were borne along helplessly in the midst of the crowd.  In all the world, I think, no one could have ever beheld a more fearful spectacle.  The men and women were mad with passion; their faces were as the faces of fiends; already some of their weapons were wet with blood.  Each had a white band bound round the arm, and most of them wore a white cross in their caps.

Guise and Angouleme rode off with their troopers to carry on the terrible work elsewhere, and they bade the citizens slay and spare not.  Crash went the doors of the houses where the Huguenots lived; shrieks of despair and cries of “Kill!  Kill!” rose on the air; the glare of numerous torches lit up the hideous scene.

“Drag them out!”

“Death to the Huguenots!”

“Burn the houses!”

“Long live the Duke of Guise!”

“Throw them from the windows!”

“Kill the whole brood!”

Very soon the street was dotted with dead bodies.  The unhappy people, roused from sleep by the yells of the mob, could offer but little resistance; they were slain in their beds, or escaped from the murderers only to be killed in the streets.

But every one did not die tamely.  At one spot we saw about a dozen of our comrades, some only half dressed, standing shoulder to shoulder, with their backs to the wall and holding the mob at bay.  At this sight Felix, wrapping his mantle round his left arm and drawing his sword, ran toward them, crying defiantly, “Coligny!  Coligny!  For the Admiral!”

It was a daring venture, and yet no more, dangerous than remaining in the crowd, where we must shortly have been discovered.

“Coligny!  Coligny!” shouted the fighters by the wall, and the very sound of the name inspired them with fresh courage.  One of the ruffians pushed at Felix with his pike, but he, with a vigorous stroke, clave him from the shoulder, and our comrades cheered again as the rascal fell.

“This way, Bellievre,” they cried; “this way, Le Blanc!  Where is the Admiral?”

“Murdered!” answered Felix bitterly, “and thrown like a dog into the courtyard of his own house.”

His words sent a thrill of horror through the little band.  Coligny murdered!  Their noble chief done to death by a pack of human wolves!  Their eyes flashed fire; they set their teeth hard, and one, a strong, sturdy fellow from Chatillon, crying “Vengeance for Coligny!” sprang at the howling mob.  Three times his blade gleamed in the air, and each time it descended a man fell.

“Three for Coligny!” he cried grimly, springing back to his place.

It was a fearful conflict, chiefly because we had no hope.  We could fight to the death, but there was no escape.  The men with the pikes rushed at us repeatedly; we beat them off, and the heap of their slain grew steadily larger, but we had lost two of our number, and were worn with fatigue.  And presently from the rear of the mob there arose a shout of “Anjou!  Anjou!” as if Monseigneur himself or some of his troopers had arrived to complete our destruction.