Near our end of the street a group of horsemen rising island-like from the sea of heads, sat motionless in their saddles about a gateway.  They were silent, taking no notice of the rioting fiends shouting at their girths, but watching in grim quiet what was passing within the gates.  They were handsomely dressed, although some wore corslets over their satin coats or lace above buff jerkins.  I could even at that distance see the jewels gleam in the bonnet of one who seemed to be their leader.  He was in the centre of the band, a very young man, perhaps twenty or twenty-one, of most splendid presence, sitting his horse superbly.  He wore a grey riding-coat, and was a head taller than any of his companions.  There was pride in the very air with which his horse bore him.

I did not need to ask Pavannes who he was.  I knew that he was the Duke of Guise, and that the house before which he stood was Coligny’s.  I knew what was being done there.  And in the same moment I sickened with horror and rage.  I had a vision of grey hairs and blood and fury scarcely human, And I rebelled.  I battled with the rabble about me.  I forced my way through them tooth and nail after Pavannes, intent only on escaping, only on getting away from there.  And so we neither halted nor looked back until we were clear of the crowd and had left the blaze of light and the work doing by it some way behind us.

We found ourselves then in the mouth of an obscure alley which my companion whispered would bring us to his house; and here we paused to take breath and look back.  The sky was red behind us, the air full of the clash and din of the tocsin, and the flood of sounds which poured from every tower and steeple.  From the eastward came the rattle of drums and random shots, and shrieks of “A bas coligny!” “A bas Les Huguenots!” Meanwhile the city was rising as one man, pale at this dread awakening.  From every window men and women, frightened by the uproar, were craning their necks, asking or answering questions or hurriedly calling for and kindling tapers.  But as yet the general populace seemed to be taking no active part in the disorder.

Pavannes raised his hat an instant as we stood in the shadow of the houses.  “The noblest man in France is dead,” he said, softly and reverently.  “God rest his soul!  They have had their way with him and killed him like a dog.  He was an old man and they did not spare him!  A noble, and they have called in the CANAILLE to tear him.  But be sure, my friend”—­and as the speaker’s tone changed and grew full and proud, his form seemed to swell with it—­“be sure the cruel shall not live out half their days!  No.  He that takes the knife shall perish by the knife!  And go to his own place!  I shall not see it, but you will!”