Then, for the first time, I noticed that some one had tied a white band round my arm.  I tore the accursed emblem off, and trampled it underfoot, in a fit of childish rage.

The citizens were dancing, shouting, and yelling like maniacs.  They were armed with clubs and pikes and swords, and one could see the clots of blood clinging to the deadly weapons.  I stood at the window horrified, yet fascinated by the dreadful sight.  A soldier, evidently an officer of high rank, rode past cheering and waving a blood-stained sword.  I caught sight of his face, and recognized Marshal Tavannes.

Directly afterwards, a man chased by human bloodhounds from the shelter of a neighbouring house darted into the midst of the crowd.  He twisted and doubled, running now this way, now that, like a hunted hare.  The assassins struck at him fiercely as he ran, holding his hands above his head to protect himself.

A blow from a club struck one arm, and it dropped to his side, broken.  He turned sharply; a ruffian pricked him with his knife; he staggered forward, lurched, swayed to and fro, and finally fell.  I closed my eyes in order not to see the end of the ghastly tragedy.

Presently a cart rumbled slowly along.  Men and women danced round about it, shouting and jeering, and brandishing their pikes and clubs.  The clumsy vehicle was packed with human beings, bound hand and foot, and tied, as far as I could see, two together.  They lay in a confused heap, some of them wounded and bleeding.

I wondered in a dull sort of way where they were being taken.  I learned later that they were flung one and two at a time into the Seine, while their savage enemies watched them drown.

Sick at heart, and stricken with horror, I lay down again upon the bed.  My misery was so intense that I cared nothing about my own fate.  Coligny was dead; I had seen Felix killed before my eyes; most of the gallant gentlemen who had been my true and loyal comrades were slain—­what mattered it whether I lived or died?  Strangely enough, perhaps, I did not even ask myself how I had escaped the awful butchery.

Shortly after noon, the door was opened, and some one entered the room.  I expected to see a ruffian with a blood-red pike; my visitor was a pale but pretty woman, carrying a bowl of soup.

“Drink this, monsieur,” she said, “it will give you strength.  Renaud will return in the evening.”

“Renaud!” I exclaimed, “do you mean Renaud L’Estang?  Do I owe my life to him?”

“He is a brave man,” she answered, “he saved your life at the risk of his own; but I must go again.  Do not make any sound, monsieur.  If the citizens were aware of your being here they would murder us.”

She went out and fastened the door, leaving me to drink the soup at my leisure.  So, it was Renaud L’Estang who had saved me.  Truly that little action of mine in Rochelle had borne good fruit.

Several times during the afternoon I returned to the window overlooking the narrow street, but toward evening I lay down and slept, and when a noise at the door wakened me the room was nearly dark.