It might have been that he guessed something of the thoughts passing through my mind, for he exclaimed suddenly, “There is one thing I would say, monsieur.  This massacre is none of my seeking, and through it all my sword has never left the scabbard except in your defence.  The mercy once shown to me I have shown again.”

“You are a good fellow, L’Estang,” I murmured, “and I thank you.”

After that I fell asleep and in spite of the jolting of the carriage did not waken until the sun was high in the heavens.

“You have wakened in time for breakfast,” said my companion, who appeared not to have slept at all; “in a few minutes we shall arrive at an inn where I intend to halt.  I am known there, and we shall be well treated.”

We stayed a couple of hours, during which time fresh horses were procured and harnessed to the carriage, while the coachman removed Monseigneur’s favours from his hat, and covered his livery with a blue overall.

“Now,” I said, when the journey was resumed, tell me why you asked us to meet you at the Louvre, and then failed to keep the appointment!”

“I will answer the last part of the question first; the explanation is very simple.  Monseigneur needed my attendance, and when I was able to leave him it was too late.”

“You intended to give us warning of this horrible conspiracy?”

“No, I could not betray my patron, but I intended to save you and Monsieur Bellievre.  I felt sure you would not leave your leader; I should have despised you if you had.”

“And rightly, too.”

“So,” he continued, “I arranged to carry you off by force, and keep you shut up until the danger was past.  Monseigneur, without intending it, disturbed my plans.  Guessing you would return to Coligny’s hotel I followed as quickly as possible with a few rascals who would do my bidding, and ask no questions.  You were not there.”

“The troopers reached the hotel before us,” I explained.

“I guessed what had happened, and searched the streets.  Finally I reached the house where you had taken refuge.  I was too late for Monsieur Bellievre; he was dead.”

“As true a heart as beat in France!” I said.

“Yes,” agreed L’Estang, “he was a gallant youngster.  Turning from him I saw you fall, and ran across the room.  The mob recognized me as Monseigneur’s attendant, or it would have gone hard with you.  Even as it was—­but there, do the details matter?  I got you away at last to the room I had prepared; then it was necessary to return to my patron.”

I endeavoured to thank him, but he would hear nothing, saying, “A promise to the dead is sacred, monsieur.”

“Charles may not be a strong king,” I remarked some time later, “but he plays the hypocrite vastly well.  One would have thought from his visit to the Admiral that he was devoured by grief.”

“He was both sorry and angry at the attempt on Coligny’s life; it was not his work.”