We passed our time at Chatillon very pleasantly.  Felix was soon able to leave his bed, and every day increased his strength.  The rumours of an approaching peace became stronger, and at last it was announced that Coligny had signed a treaty, which secured to those of the Religion perfect freedom to worship as they pleased.

“As long as we keep our swords loose, and our horses saddled,” said Felix, “but no longer,” and Roger, rather to my surprise, agreed with him.

It was the time of evening, and we were walking on one of the terraces, when Jacques rode slowly into the courtyard.  He looked tired and travel-stained, as was but natural, but his face wore a gloomy expression that could not be due to fatigue.  I went down to him quickly with a sudden sinking of the heart.

“Well, Jacques, what news?” I cried, with forced cheerfulness.

“The country is quiet, monsieur, and the citizens are rejoicing in Rochelle.”

“I care nothing for Rochelle just now; ’tis of my mother and sister I would hear.  Are they well?  Are they cheerful?  Have they written to me?  Speak out, man; is your tongue in a knot?”

“I would it were,” said he, “if that would alter the news I bring.  You must brace yourself, monsieur, to face another calamity.  But here is a letter from Mademoiselle Jeanne.”

“From Jeanne?” I repeated, and at that I understood the truth.  My mother was dead!

I read the blotted and tear-stained paper with moist eyes.  On the very day when we started from Narbonne on our memorable march, my poor mother, who had never really recovered from the shock of my father’s death, breathed her last.  Concerning herself, Jeanne said little except that she was living in the household of the Queen of Navarre, who was holding her court at Rochelle.

After telling Felix and Roger the sad news, I went away to brood over my sorrow alone.  It was a heavy blow, and the heavier because so unexpected.  The chance that my mother might die during my absence had never struck me, and I had been looking forward impatiently to meeting her again.

Fortunately, the newly-signed peace brought me many active duties.  The army was disbanded, and most of our chiefs began their preparations for a visit to Rochelle.  Felix and I were kept busy, and indeed until the journey began we had few idle moments.

The little band of Englishmen who had survived the war—­gallant hearts, they had spent themselves so recklessly that barely a dozen remained—­accompanied us, and naturally we saw a great deal of Roger.

“I suppose,” said Felix to him one day, “that now you will return to England?”

“My comrades are returning at once,” he replied, “but I shall stay a while longer; perhaps even pay a visit to Paris before I leave.”

“If you wish to see Paris,” said Felix, “it will be well to go quickly, before the clouds burst again”; but Roger observed with a smile that he intended to stay in Rochelle for a few weeks at least.