Now that the excitement of the journey had passed I felt, indeed, painfully weak, and for several days kept to my bed, being waited upon by Jeanne and Roger, while Jacques slept at night in my chamber.

One morning toward the end of the week Roger came as usual to sit with me.  Jeanne was in the room, but she disappeared quickly, her pretty cheeks covered with blushes.

“You have frightened Jeanne away!” I exclaimed, laughing.

“She knows that I wish to have a talk with you,” he answered, and upon my word he began to blush like an overgrown boy.

“One would fancy it a matter of some importance!”

“Of the greatest importance,” he replied earnestly, “since it affects all your future life.  Do you realize that unless you desert your faith, and go to mass, your career is ruined?  Your account of the massacre was under rather than over the mark.  With the exception of Conde and Navarre there does not appear to be a single Huguenot leader left, and it is reported that Conde has recanted in order to save his life.”

“The Cause is not dead because Conde has forsaken it.”

“No,” agreed Roger, “but it is dead nevertheless.  Henry is a prisoner in Paris; the Huguenots are scattered and dispirited; they have no leaders, no arms, no money; there is not a single district in which they are not at the mercy of the king’s troops.  Already the Paris massacre has been repeated in several towns.”

“Well,” I said, wondering whither all this tended.

“You yourself cannot leave Rochelle except at the risk of your life.”

“Because of Cordel?”

“Because of Cordel.  He means to possess your estates; he has a powerful patron in Anjou, and you cannot obtain the ear of the king.”

“’Twould do me little service if I could!”

“What will you do in Rochelle?”

“I shall not stay here long; I shall sail to our colony in America, where one can at least worship God in peace.”

“Yes,” he said musingly, “you can do that”; and then as if the thought had but just occurred to him, “it will be a terribly rough life for Jeanne—­I mean for your sister.”

“I had forgotten Jeanne.  Well, that plan must be given up.”

“There is one way out of the difficulty,” he continued, coming finally to the point toward which he had been leading.  “I am rich, and my own master.  I have a good estate in England.”

“Yes,” I said, leaving him, rather ungenerously, to flounder through as best he could.

“I love your sister,” he blurted out.  “I wish to make her my wife.  Do you object to having me for a brother, Edmond?”

Now, I was very fond of my English friend; he was a gallant gentleman, and the soul of honour.  To be quite frank, I had once hoped that Jeanne would marry Felix, but he, poor fellow, was dead.

I gave Roger my hand, saying, “There is no one living to whom I would rather trust my sister’s happiness.  Besides, that gets rid of all our difficulties at once.  With you to protect Jeanne, I can carry out my plans.”