“They are all made,” he replied gravely.

“There is your sword,” I remarked, pointing to the weapon lying on the table.

“Let it lie monsieur,” he answered with a mournful smile; “a dead man has no use for a sword.”

Now I may have done a very foolish thing, for this L’Estang was a daring soldier, crafty, able, and resolute.  He was an enemy to be feared far more than many a general in the armies of the League.  All this was well known to me, and yet I could not harden my heart against him.  I had meant to denounce him to the Admiral, but at the last moment my courage failed.  How could I condemn to death this man who had freely risked his life to comfort his mother’s last moments?

“Monsieur,” I said awkwardly, “listen to me.  When I met you in the city, I jumped to the conclusion that you had come to Rochelle as a spy.  You told me your story, and I believed it; but you have doubtless many enemies who will laugh at it.  They will say——­”

“Nothing, monsieur; I shall go to the block without words.  Renaud L’Estang will find no mercy in Rochelle, and asks none.”

There was no hint of bravado in his speech; it was but the expression of a man of intrepid courage and iron will.

“Once more listen,” I said.  “Had you come to Rochelle as a spy I should have handed you over to our troops without hesitation; but I am regarding you, not as the servant of Anjou but as a tender and loving son.  I cannot have on my hands the blood of a man who has shown such affection for his mother.  I propose to accompany you to the gate, and there to set you at liberty.”

He stood like one suddenly stricken dumb.  His limbs trembled, the muscles of his face twitched convulsively; he gazed at me with unseeing eyes.

“Monsieur,” he said after a time, “I do not comprehend.  Is it that you give me, Renaud L’Estang, my life?  No, I must have mistaken your words.”

“You have made no mistake.  As far as I am concerned you are free.  I ask but one thing, Renaud L’Estang.  Some day you may be able to show mercy to one of your foes.  Should such a time arrive, remember that once mercy was not withheld from you.”

He did not speak, but motioned me with his hand to follow him.  We entered the chamber of death, and he knelt reverently by the bedside.  Then, in low, passionate tones, calling on the dead woman by name, he made a solemn vow that, should it ever be in his power, he would repay the debt he owed me, even at the sacrifice of life and all he held most dear.

“I must fight for my side,” he said, “but no Huguenot shall ever seek quarter from me in vain.”

He buckled on his sword, and we went out together in the dull grey morning.  Few persons were abroad, and none presumed to question one of the Admiral’s household.  My companion fetched his horse from the inn, and I walked with him until we were well beyond the walls of the town.