“No one is without some virtue,” I said.

“There is one person in the world,” he continued, in low earnest tones, almost as if communing with himself, “who has all my love and affection.  For her I would willingly die, or suffer the worst tortures a fiend could invent.  Monsieur, there is but one person on earth who loves me and whom I love; and she is in Rochelle, lying at the point of death.”

“Your wife?” I said questioningly.

“My mother!” he replied.  “In her eyes, monsieur, I possess all the virtues.  It is strange, is it not?” and he laughed a trifle bitterly.

“And you risked your life to comfort her before she died?”

“Bah!” he exclaimed impatiently, “what is a trifle like that?  Monsieur, I never yet begged a favour, but I beg one now.  Not for myself, but for her.  You are young, and have a mother of your own!  I shall not plead to you vainly.  I tried to kill you, but you will not take your revenge on her.  And I am altogether in your power.”

“Yes,” I said slowly, “that is true.”

“You can send for a guard, but without explaining your object.  They can surround the house, while I close my mother’s eyes, and afterwards I am at your service.  The gallows, the block, or the wheel, as your leaders direct; you will not lose much.”

“No, I shall not lose much,” I repeated.

Now, strangely perhaps, I felt not the slightest doubt of the man’s story.  His good faith was apparent in every tone and every gesture.  Whatever his vices, he loved his mother with his whole heart.  And he was entirely in my power!  Even if he got away from me in the streets he could not leave Rochelle!  I thought of my own mother, and hesitated no longer.  I could not keep these two apart.

“Monsieur,” I said, “for good or ill I intend to trust you.  We will go together to your home, and—­and afterwards you will return with me to the Hotel Coligny.  If you abuse my confidence, I will leave your punishment in the hands of God, who judges Huguenot and Catholic alike.  Come, let us hasten.”

He made no violent protestations, but murmured brokenly:  “May the blessing of a dying woman reward you!”

We passed out of the inn together, and walked briskly through the streets, until we reached a house not far from the harbour.  The door was opened by a middle-aged woman who gazed at my companion in astonishment.

“Hush!” he said softly, “am I in time?”

“For the end,” she answered, “only for that.  Madame has already received the last rites.”

The woman showed us into an empty room, where my companion laid aside his weapons.

“You do not repent of your generosity?” he asked.

“I have trusted you fully,” I replied, and his face lit up with a gratified smile as he left the room, stepping noiselessly into the corridor.

The servant brought a light, and some refreshments, but they stood before me untasted.  I was busy with my thoughts.  The house was very still; not a sound broke the silence, not the murmur of a voice, nor the fall of a footstep.  I might have been in a house of the dead.