"No," I said rather bitterly, "the army was running to all the points of the compass."

"That's just what I was doing, monsieur. What with the darkness, and the pain of my wound, and the fear of falling into the hands of Monseigneur's troops, I lost my head entirely, and wandered about in a circle. When morning came I was hardly a mile from Montcontour. Then some peasants seized me, and for once in my life I was glad to count a robber among my friends."

"How so?"

"One of the fellows was Jules Bredin, from our own village. He recognized me, and as he possessed some authority I came to no harm. Indeed, they took me to their camp in the woods, and attended to me until I had quite recovered. I owe Jules a debt of gratitude."

"On which side do these fellows fight?"

"I asked Jules that question myself, and he laughed in my face. 'My dear Jacques,' said the rascal, 'we fight for ourselves, and we get our victims from both parties. They won't let us work, so we must earn our living as best we can.' And they seemed to be flourishing, monsieur. They had no lack of wine and provisions. Jules never feasted so well in his life before. But, monsieur, what is the Admiral doing at Saintes?"

"That I do not know, Jacques, but doubtless we shall soon discover."

Our journey passed without incident, and having delivered the despatch I sought my comrades. Roger had by this time been made acquainted with my loss, and both he and Felix showed me the greatest kindness. It was pleasant to feel that one possessed such trusty friends.

"You have arrived just in time," said Felix, "for we march in the morning."

"March?" I asked in surprise, "where?"

"Somewhere to the south, I believe; but the Admiral keeps his plans close. But you may be sure he isn't going to offer Anjou battle. We scarcely number three thousand, counting the handful of infantry."

"Not a large number with which to conquer a kingdom!" laughed Roger.

"We shall get more," said Felix, who had recovered his spirits, and was as sanguine as ever. "Coligny's name alone will attract men to the standard. Why, surely that must be Jacques!" as my servant approached. "Jacques, you rascal, I thought you had deserted us at Montcontour!"

"I think it was the other way about, monsieur," replied Jacques slily. "I stayed at Montcontour."

"Ah, a good thrust!" cried my comrade merrily, "a good thrust! But whichever way it is I am glad to see you again, Jacques. We are sadly in need of strong arms and stout hearts."

"Well, monsieur, I have been round the camp, and certainly I think the Admiral is quite equal to commanding a larger army."

"You should not regard mere numbers, Jacques; it is the quality that tells. Three thousand picked men are worth ten thousand ordinary troops. And then our chief is as good as an army in himself!"

To those who had fought at Roche Abeille, our camp presented a somewhat sorry spectacle. As Felix had said, we numbered barely three thousand men, and one missed a host of familiar faces. I thought with pity of the noble St. Cyr, and many others of our best and bravest who had already laid down their lives for the Cause.

We retired to rest early, and soon after daybreak were roused by the bugles. Tents were struck, prayers said, and about nine o'clock we moved off the ground in the direction of the Dordogne.

It would be tedious to relate in detail the incidents of that southern journey. The weather was bitterly cold and rainy, much sickness set in, and we suffered numerous hardships. Still we pushed steadily forward, through Guienne, Ronergue, and Quercy, passed the Lot below Cadence, and halted at Montauban. Here we were cheered by the arrival of Montgomery, with two thousand Bearnese, a welcome addition to our scanty force.

Smaller bodies of troops had already joined us, and after leaving Montauban we picked up several more. Felix, of course, was in excellent spirits, and talked as if we had the whole kingdom at our feet.

"But where are we going?" I asked in bewilderment, "and what are we going to do?"

"I do not know, my dear Edmond," he replied gaily. "It is enough for me that Coligny leads. I warrant he has some brilliant scheme in his head."

From Montauban we marched up the Garonne to Toulouse, and finally found ourselves at Narbonne, where we went into winter quarters. Roger was, of course, with his own troop, but Felix and I were billeted in the same house, much to our satisfaction.

After our long and painful march, the comfort which we met with at Narbonne was exceedingly welcome, and week after week glided rapidly away. Toward the end of the winter several hundred men came in from the surrounding districts, and our army began to present quite a respectable appearance.

Many conjectures were made as to our leader's intentions, but he kept his own counsel, and even we of his household had no inkling of the gigantic scheme forming in his mind. Some said he meant to establish a separate kingdom in the south, to which those of the Religion in all parts of the country would flock; but this idea was scouted by those who knew his intense love of France. Besides, as Felix remarked, we should have to abandon La Rochelle, and such a proceeding as that was incredible.

"Into harness again, Edmond," exclaimed my comrade excitedly, one morning, coming from his attendance on the Admiral. "Boot and saddle, and the tented field once more. We leave Narbonne in a week; aren't you glad?"

"Upon my word I am not sorry. Where do we go? Is the mystery solved?"

"No," he said, laughing good-humouredly, "the chief still keeps his secret. But when it does leak out I fancy there will be a surprise for us."

The news soon spread, and the town was filled with bustle and animation. Every one was busy with his preparations, and from morning till night the streets were crowded with men and horses, and with wagons for carrying the provisions and stores. Our days of idleness were over; we had no rest now. Felix and I were ever hurrying from place to place, carrying orders and instructions to the different leaders.

At last the day came when with cheerful confidence we marched out from the town that had been our winter home. The sick had recovered their health, every one was strong and vigorous, the horses were in capital condition, and we all looked forward to a successful campaign, though without the slightest idea where it would take place.

I had thought it most probable that we should retrace our steps to Toulouse, but instead we speedily struck eastward. What did our leader intend doing? was the question asked by every one that night, and which no one could answer. A few of the troops showed some concern, but the majority shared my comrade's opinion.

"What does it matter where we go," said he, "as long as Coligny leads us? It is for him to form the plan, and for us to carry it out."

"We are going farther away from Rochelle," I remarked.

"Rochelle can look after itself, Edmond. It would help the Cause considerably if Anjou would besiege the city; but he won't. As to this march, the Admiral will explain his intentions when he thinks well."

It was at Nismes that Coligny first revealed his purpose, and it came on most of us as a thunder-clap. Instead of returning to the scenes of our former struggles, we were to cross the Rhone, march through Dauphigny, and threaten Paris from the east. The proposal was so bold and audacious that it fairly took away our breath, and we gazed at each other in astonishment. But the hot-headed ones, and Felix among them, cheered the speech with all the vigour of their lungs, more than making up for the silence of the rest.

"Soldiers," said the Admiral, "there are my plans, but I do not force you to obey me. Those whose courage fails must stop behind and return to their homes, but I will march though not more than five hundred should follow my banner. Think well before you agree. The journey is long, perilous, and full of hardship. We shall find few friends and many enemies; our provisions may fail, and Monseigneur will certainly send a strong army to bar our passage. It is an undertaking for only the bravest; the weak-kneed will but hinder."

"We will follow you to the death, my lord," cried Felix impetuously, and thousands of voices took up the bold cry.

"I will ask you to-morrow," said our chief; "for when once we have started I must have no faltering, nor turning back."

That same evening Felix and I went over to the Englishmen's camp. I had expected to find some traces of excitement, and to hear them discussing whether they should embark on the hazardous venture. Instead of that they were lounging about as carelessly as if we had Drought the war to a successful conclusion.

Roger came towards us smiling. "Well," said he, "your general has sprung a surprise on us!"

"Will your comrades go with us?" I asked. "Have they talked the matter over yet?"

"What is there to talk over? We are here to help, not to say what you shall do. Of course we shall go. One part of France is the same to us as another; but I fancy some of your own troops will elect to remain behind."

"'Tis quite possible," I replied. "The venture is a daring one."

"The majority will march," declared Felix with enthusiasm; "a few of the southerners may prefer to guard their own districts, but that is all. I knew Coligny had some gigantic scheme in his head, but never dreamed of this. It is glorious; it will be the talk of Europe."

"If it succeed," said Roger drily, "it will matter little whether Europe talks or not; but in any case Coligny is staking everything on one throw. If we get beaten, he cannot expect to raise another army."

"Do not let us think of defeat," I said, "and we shall stand a better chance of winning a victory. There is no sense in gazing at the black clouds when we can as easily look at the bright sunshine."



CHAPTER XIV

Scouting for Coligny

As Roger had prophesied, not all the Huguenot soldiers were prepared to follow their intrepid leader; but on that memorable April morning of 1570 we swung out from Nismes some five thousand strong, all horsemen, for Coligny had mounted the three thousand arquebusiers who formed the major part of our force.

The journey from Saintes to Narbonne had been tedious, and, because of the bitter winter cold, full of hardship, but we had not met with opposition. Now we were launched straight into the midst of a hostile district filled with the king's troops, and few days passed without some skirmish, in which, though petty enough, we could ill afford to engage.

It seems little to put down on paper—how we rode hour after hour, often with insufficient food; how we watched at night, sometimes springing to arms at a false alarm, and more than once having to fight desperately to beat off a surprise attack; but it was a stiff business for those who went through with it.

We were, however, in good spirits, and pushed on steadily day after day, picking up a few recruits here and there to strengthen our army. The men were sturdy, resolute fellows, full of zeal for the Cause, and ready to lay down their lives for the Admiral, to whom they were devoted.

How wholly dependent we were upon him, in spite of the presence of Prince Henry and young Conde, became plain when he was taken ill at St. Etienne. The march was stopped abruptly, and for three weeks we waited in fear and doubt, asking ourselves anxiously what would happen if he died.

Even the sanguine Felix admitted that without him the enterprise would result in failure, but fortunately the Admiral recovered, and we resumed our march.

The halt which we were forced to make at St. Etienne had done us considerable service. Horses and men alike were broken down by fatigue, loss of sleep, and scanty rations, and the long rest had restored their strength. Shortly before leaving, too, a body of cavalry, fifteen hundred strong, had ridden into camp amidst the acclamations of the assembled troops.

"Now," said Felix joyously, "Monseigneur can meet us as soon as he likes."

After leaving St. Etienne we soon discovered that the worst part of the journey was still before us. Our way lay over rugged crests, and along the edge of steep precipices overhanging gloomy chasms. Nothing save a few chestnut trees, whose fruit was not yet ripe, grew on that bare, stony ground, while the only animals were small, stunted sheep, and mountain goats.

Here and there we passed a tiny hamlet, but for the most part we marched through a wild and desolate solitude, through steep and gloomy gorges with rapid torrents thundering at the bottom. In the upper passes the snow lay deep, and more than once as we stumbled along a piercing shriek told us that some unfortunate animal, missing its footing, had hurled its wretched rider into eternity.

At length, to the loudly expressed joy of every man in the army, we left the gloomy wilderness behind, and emerged into a rich and smiling valley. The animals neighed with delight on seeing the fresh sweet grass, and we who had shivered with the bitter cold in the mountain passes rejoiced at the glorious warmth of the sun.

But now we had to proceed with far greater caution, since at any moment a royalist army might swoop down upon us. Sharp-sighted scouts rode ahead and on our flanks, while messengers frequently arrived bringing information for our general. According to these accounts Monseigneur was still in the west, but Marshal Cosse had been despatched with a strong army to oppose us.

We had halted for the night some ten miles or so from Arnay-le-Duc, and I was gossiping with Roger Braund and several of the Englishmen—their numbers by this time, alas! had thinned considerably—when Felix came up hastily, his eyes shining with keen excitement.

"Any fresh news?" asked Roger.

"Nothing certain," my comrade answered, "but Cosse is reported to be at or near Arnay-le-Duc. Edmond are you for a ride?"

"With all my heart," said I, "but where?"

"To find out what we can about Cosse. I have the Admiral's instructions. I told Jacques to saddle your horse; but you must hurry."

"Good-night, Roger; good-night, gentlemen," I said, laughing; "you can sleep soundly, knowing that we are awake."

"Take care!" laughed Roger good-humouredly, "and don't let that madcap get you into mischief. I shouldn't be surprised if he tries to get his information from Cosse himself."

"I would," declared Felix merrily, "if he gave me half a chance; but we must really go; the Admiral"—and he drew himself up with an air of assumed importance—"depends upon us."

"Good-bye," laughed Roger, "you won't be a prisoner long; we will capture the marshal and exchange him for you!"

"Monseigneur would make a poor bargain if he agreed to that!" said my comrade, as we went off light-heartedly.

"Shall we take Jacques?" I asked, as we hurried along.

"He has settled that question for himself," returned Felix in high glee; "he is saddling his own animal as well as ours."

"What does the Admiral wish to learn?"

"The enemy's numbers. The reports are conflicting and range from five thousand to thirty, but we will discover the truth for ourselves before the morning."

"At any rate we will do our best. There is Jacques; he has lost little time; the horses are ready. My pistols, Jacques!"

"They are in the holsters, monsieur, and loaded."

"Into the saddle then! Have you the password, Felix?"

"Yes; 'tis Roche Abeille."

"A good choice! 'Tis an omen of success. Have you any idea of the proper direction?"

"I can find the way easily to Arnay-le-Duc; I have had a long talk with one of the couriers."

Having passed our last outpost, where we stayed to chat for a moment with the officer in command, we proceeded at a brisk pace, my comrade feeling assured that we should not meet an enemy during the first six miles. After that distance we went more slowly and with greater caution, for if the marshal was really at Arnay-le-Duc, his patrols were probably scouring the neighbourhood.

About four miles from the town we entered the street of a straggling village. It was a half after ten; the lights in the cottages were out; the villagers had retired to bed.

"Shall we do any good by knocking up the landlord of the inn?" I asked.

"What say you, Jacques?"

"We shall probably learn the village gossip, and if the marshal is anywhere near Arnay-le-Duc it will be known here."

"True," said my comrade; "let us lead the animals into the yard. Edmond, hammer at the door!"

The landlord was in bed, but he came down quickly, and, having shown us into his best room, proceeded to draw the wine which Felix ordered.

"You are in bed early," I remarked on his return. "Have you no guests in the house?"

"None, monsieur."

"We expected to meet with some of the king's troops here: have they passed through already?"

"There have been no soldiers in the village, monsieur."

"But surely they are close at hand!"

"If monsieur means Marshal Cosse's army, it is ten miles off. At least Philippe said so when he came home this evening."

"Who is Philippe?"

"He lives in the village, monsieur; he could guide you to the soldiers. Shall I fetch him?"

"Yes," I replied, "and waste no time. Jacques," and I glanced at my servant meaningly, "you might go with the worthy host."

They returned in less than half an hour, bringing with them a short, thin man, spare in build, but tough and wiry. His eyes were sharp and bright, and his face was shrewd and full of intelligence.

"Are you a good Catholic, Philippe?" I asked.

His glance passed from me to Felix and back again so swiftly that he might never have taken his gaze from my face. Then he said with the most natural hesitation in the world, and as if fully expecting to suffer for his confession, "I hope monsieur will not be offended, but I belong to the Religion."

"Faith, Philippe," I said, "I guessed you were shrewd; you are the very fellow for our purpose. Since you belong to the Religion"—the rascal's lips twitched ever so slightly—"you will have no scruple in helping us. We are of the Religion, too."

"Is it possible, monsieur?" he said, with a start of well-feigned surprise.

"Now listen to me," I continued; "you know where the marshal's army is. Don't contradict; it will be useless."

"I am attending, monsieur."

"We want to see this army, but we do not wish to introduce ourselves to the soldiers. Now a sharp guide, thoroughly acquainted with the district, can easily lead us to a place from which we can learn all we want to know. Is not that a good scheme?"

"It has one serious drawback, monsieur."

"Speak on; we are listening."

"If the guide should be caught by the king's troops, he would be hanged."

"That is awkward, certainly. On the other hand, if he refuses to go he will die by the sword. You are a sensible man, Philippe, and will see the force of my remarks. Now, which is it to be? Will you earn a few crowns by taking the risk, or will you lose your life at once?"

"Truly, monsieur," said he, after a pause, "you place me in an unpleasant position; but since there is no way out of it, I will do as you wish."

"A sensible answer, and there is but one thing more to add. If you are thinking to play us false, we count three swords and six loaded pistols, and you cannot reasonably expect to escape them all."

"Monsieur's kindness in pointing out these things is truly touching!" exclaimed the rascal with a broad grin.

"My friend is noted for such kindness!" laughed Felix. "And now let us get into the saddle. Is there a spare horse in the stables, landlord?"

"Yes, monsieur," replied our host, whose limbs were shaking through fright.

"Then we shall use it for Philippe. Don't be afraid; we will pay you for the hire."

"Monsieur is very good."

"And a word in your ear, landlord. On our return, do not let us find that your tongue has been wagging!"

We rode out from the inn yard, Jacques and Philippe in front, Felix and I following.

"He is a clever rascal," remarked Felix in a low voice; "he is no Huguenot."

"If he is," I replied laughing quietly, "'twas a quick conversion. He was certainly a good Catholic until he had taken note of our dress. But the fellow will guide us aright, for his own sake. He is quick enough to calculate the chances."

Occasionally one or other of us cantered forward and rode a short distance by his side, while Jacques watched him constantly with the eyes of a hawk. But the fellow who was keen enough to understand that treachery would result in his own death, whatever else happened, led us very carefully across country and right away from the beaten tracks until about three o'clock in the morning, when he came to a halt on the top of a wooded hill.

"Very softly!" he whispered, "we are in the rear of the army, but there may be some sentries at hand. When day breaks we shall see the camp almost at our feet."

I bade Jacques lead the animals deeper into the wood, lest they should attract attention; then Felix and I lay down with the guide between us.

"So far, Philippe, you have served us well," whispered my comrade. "You will pocket those crowns yet!"

"Hush, monsieur; a single sound may cost us our lives."

This was true, so we lay silent, watching for the breaking of dawn. Little by little the night haze cleared away; the light broke through the clouds; the sun rose, lighting up first the distant hills, and presently revealing the secret of the plain beneath. The bugles sounded; men came from their tents, rubbing their eyes still burdened with sleep, and before long all the camp was astir.

"Guns!" said Felix; "how many do you make, Edmond?"

"Six," I replied, after a careful survey.

"I can count six, too," he said. "According to our spies the marshal had no guns."

I nudged our guide, saying, "What is the number of the troops down there?"

"Fifteen thousand infantry, and six thousand horsemen, monsieur," he answered promptly.

"It may be so," I said, "but we shall be better able to judge when they are ready to march."

For two hours we lay flat on the ground, with our eyes fixed on the camp, never changing our position, and speaking hardly a word. We watched the cavalry feed and groom the animals, and saw the troops sit down to breakfast. Then a body of horsemen, about fifty or sixty in number, rode out from the camp in the direction of Arnay-le-Duc.



After a while the troops fell in, and a number of richly-dressed officers rode along the lines, as if to inspect them.

"Jacques," I said softly, for all this time he had remained with the animals, "if you can leave the horses, come here."

In two or three minutes he had crept close up to us, and was looking steadily at the camp.

"How many, Jacques?" I asked, for he was an old campaigner, with far more experience than either Felix or I possessed.

"'Tis a nice little army," he said after a time, "but"—with a sidelong glance at Philippe—"no match for ours. Why, the Marshal has hardly more than four thousand horsemen, with thirteen thousand infantry at the outside."

"My own estimate!" exclaimed Felix; "what do you say, Edmond?"

"One can easily make a mistake at this work," I answered, "but I should think your guess is not far from the truth."

"Then we need stay no longer. Come," to the guide, "lead us back safely, and the crowns are yours."

Stealing very quietly and cautiously into the wood, we took our horses by the bridle, and led them—Jacques going in front and closely followed by our guide—along a narrow path, away from the camp. At the end of the wood we mounted, and, riding in twos, set out briskly on the return journey.

Thanks to Philippe, we reached the inn without mishap, paid the landlord, who was evidently surprised at seeing us again, for the loan of his horse, and handed our guide his promised reward.

"Put the crowns in your purse, my man," said Felix, "and for your own sake I should advise you not to open your lips. Marshal Cosse may not be too pleased with your night's work."

We cantered off at a sharp pace, eager to acquaint the Admiral with our success, and had covered a little more than half the distance, when, on turning a bend in the road, we perceived about a dozen horsemen galloping full tilt towards us.

"King's men!" cried Jacques quickly. "A patrol from the camp on their way back."

"We must ride through them!" exclaimed Felix. "'Tis our only chance. All three abreast, Jacques. Ready?"

There being no other way out of the business, except that of standing still to be captured, we drew our swords and, crying "For the Admiral!" dashed boldly at them. They were riding in no sort of order, but straggled along loosely, each intent, it seemed to me, on getting first. They were clearly surprised at encountering us, and, beyond a few hasty sword-strokes in passing,—and these did no damage—made no effort to oppose our passage.

Several yards behind the main body two men were stumbling along on wounded horses. They themselves were hurt also, and both promptly surrendered at our challenge.

"Faith!" cried Felix, "this is a queer proceeding. Ah, there is the reason," as a strong patrol of our own men came thundering along. The leader pointed ahead with his sword, as if asking a question, and Felix exclaimed quickly, "They are in front; their horses are getting blown."

We drew aside to give them room, as they galloped past in a cloud of dust, and then my comrade, turning to Jacques, said, "Can you manage the prisoners, Jacques? We must hurry on."

My servant produced a loaded pistol. "I am well provided, monsieur," he answered. "I think these gentlemen will not give trouble."

"Very good. Take your time; I expect our troops are on the march. Forward, Edmond," and, setting spurs to our horses, we galloped off.

All danger was over now, and before long we caught sight of the advanced-guard of our army.

"Can you tell us where to find the general?" asked Felix of an officer, as we pulled up.

"He is with the centre, monsieur. Have you seen the enemy?"

"Yes," I answered, riding on, "and there will be some stirring work soon!"



CHAPTER XV

A Glorious Triumph

Coligny was riding with a group of his principal officers when we drew up, and he greeted us with a kindly smile.

"Here are our knights-errant," said he, "let us hear what they have to say. Have you seen the enemy, Bellievre?"

"Yes, my lord; their camp is a few miles beyond Arnay-le-Duc. They were preparing to march when we left, though they seemed to be in no particular hurry. The officers were holding some sort of inspection."

"Did you get close to them?"

"We had a clear view of the whole camp from the top of a wooded hill in the rear."

"And you have formed some idea of their numbers?"

"There were three of us, my lord, and we were all fairly well agreed. The marshal has six guns, between four and five thousand cavalry, and about thirteen thousand infantry."

"Do you agree with that statement, Le Blanc?"

"The numbers are a little over my calculation, my lord; but not much."

"In any case, you think the figures are high enough?"

"That is absolutely certain," I replied.

"Good! We owe you both our best thanks."

They were simple words, simply spoken, but they went straight to our hearts, amply repaying us for the risks attendant on our night's adventure.

Marching slowly, and halting two or three times during the day, as the general wished to husband his men's strength, we arrived early in the evening at a little stream near Arnay-le-Duc, and beheld, on the other side, two or three thousand of the royalist cavalry. There were no guns in sight, and the infantry had been drawn up at some distance in the background.

The troops took their supper—a very meagre one, too; our provisions being at a low ebb—sentries were posted, and Coligny made all arrangements for battle, in case the enemy should attack before morning.

"There is Roger coming towards us!" I exclaimed, as we lay wrapped in our cloaks on the ground.

"He has come to discover if we are still alive!" said my comrade.

"You are wrong," laughed the Englishman, dropping down beside us; "Jacques told me he had kept you from coming to grief. I congratulate you on having such a servant. But, seriously, I am glad to see you back; the errand was rather venturesome for such young persons," and he laughed again in his rich, musical voice.

"Go away," said Felix, "before I am tempted to chastise you. It would be a pity to lose your services for to-morrow!"

"It would," agreed our friend. "By the look of things, Coligny will need all the swords he can muster. Did you find out anything about the enemy's strength?"

We gave him the figures, and he remarked: "The odds are heavy enough in all conscience, seeing that we count barely six thousand men. Still, they are picked troops."

"And they have their backs against the wall," I observed. "There was a chance of escape at Montcontour, but there is none here. If we are defeated we shall be cut to pieces."

"You are entertaining, you two!" interposed Felix. "Can we not have a change? Let me arrange the programme. First, we rout Cosse—an easy matter; second, we continue our march to Paris, defeating Monseigneur on the way; third, we dictate terms of peace at the Louvre."

"And fourth," laughed Roger, "we appoint Monsieur Felix Bellievre Marshal of France, and advance him to the highest dignity!"

"The suggestion does you credit," replied my comrade, good-humouredly; "and we will make a beginning in the morning by beating Cosse."

Knowing that we had lost our sleep the previous night, Roger did not stay long, and as soon as our attendance on the Admiral was over we went to bed, or rather lay down inside the tent, muffled in our cloaks.

The morning of June 27, 1570, opened bright and clear, and we looked forward with hope, if not exactly with confidence, to the approaching battle. The enemy were nearly three to one, but, as Roger had said, our men were all picked troops, hardy, resolute fellows, filled with intense zeal, and fighting for what they believed to be right.

They greeted Coligny with deafening cheers, when, after breakfast, and our simple morning service, he rode along the lines, accompanied by Henry of Bearn and the young Conde. These gallant youths each commanded a regiment, and their flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes told how ardently they burned to distinguish themselves.

"There are the enemy, my lads," said Coligny, in his grave, measured tones, "and we must beat them. It is our last chance. If we fail, the Cause is lost, and we shall find no mercy. If we run away, we shall be cut down, for there is no place of shelter. We must win the battle, or die on the field."

"We will!" they cried, and there was a ring in their voices that spoke of an iron determination to succeed.

"And we," said young Henry of Bearn, "will die with you. Not one of your leaders will leave the field except as a victor. It is victory or death for all of us."

At these brave words the cheering broke out afresh, and my comrade, turning to me, exclaimed, "The battle is won already! Those fellows will never retreat."

They were, indeed, in fine fettle, but it was setting them a desperate task to oppose nearly three times their number!

The marshal began the attack with a cavalry charge, but, as the horsemen galloped forward, a body of arquebusiers posted in a ditch discharged such a stinging fire that our opponents wheeled round and rode hurriedly back to shelter.

"Well done!" cried Felix; "we have drawn first blood."

They tried again with the same result, and then a strong body of infantry was pushed forward. But the arquebusiers clung firmly to their post, and presently young Conde, sweeping round unexpectedly at the head of his regiment, charged and broke the hostile infantry. It was a daring charge, and we waved our swords and cheered, as the victorious horsemen rode proudly back.

The marshal, however, was not to be denied. Again and again he launched his horsemen at us, while his foot-soldiers crept steadily nearer. All along our front the battle raged fiercely, and at every point our gallant fellows were fighting against overwhelming numbers.

"Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm!" cried our general, as he galloped over the field, bringing the magic of his presence to whatever part was in most danger.

It was in one of these wild rushes the incident occurred that laid the foundation of my fortunes, though the building took many years to complete. I tell it here, not out of pride or vainglory—though I was proud, too—but because it is necessary to the better understanding of my story.

We had just left the handful of Englishmen, who had bravely repulsed a stubborn attack of cavalry and infantry on their position, when a cry arose of "Prince Henry! Help for the prince!"

A cry of despair broke from us as we realized his peril. How it came about I never clearly learned, for in the heat of battle one rarely sees more than the things close at hand. Some said one thing, some another, but this I reckon was the most likely way of it.

His regiment was rather exposed, and on the left flank stretched some rolling ground, unsuitable for cavalry but affording good cover for foot-soldiers. Across these hollows Cosse had sent a large body of infantry, while at the same time the prince's regiment was assailed by an overwhelming force of cavalry. An order to retire was given—though none knew by whom—and in consequence, Henry, with a handful of men, was left surrounded by a sea of foes.

Coligny glanced quickly round the field; the royalists were pressing us at every point; not a man could be spared from his post.

"We must save him ourselves, gentlemen!" he exclaimed tersely, "forward!"

We counted barely two score swords, but the prince was in peril, and though the enterprise cost all our lives he must be rescued. Our comrades battling desperately at their posts cheered us as we flew by, crying, "Coligny! Coligny!" Straight as a die we rode, our chief slightly in advance, the rest of us in threes, horse's head to horse's head, the animals straining and quivering in every muscle as we urged them madly forward.

Too late! was the thought in every heart, as we beheld the prince fighting for dear life, and hemmed in by a host of enemies. "Coligny! Coligny!" we cried, and in blind fury charged the dense mass.

Now it chanced by pure accident, for I had no other thought than to follow my patron closely, that the charge brought me close to the bridle-hand of the prince. Henry of Bearn, though a fine sworder, was even a better horseman, and it was to his skill as a rider, much more than to his dexterity with the sword, that he owed his life.

But now he was so closely beset that he was compelled to depend upon the play of his sword, and his strength was failing. They struck fiercely at him in front and on both sides; there was a continuous circle of flashing steel; it was marvellous how death missed him. Pressed hard by a trooper on the right he turned to parry his blows more effectively, when a second trooper slashed at his bridle-arm.

There was no time for warning; no time even for thought. With a cry of "Coligny!" I dashed forward, and, throwing myself half out of the saddle, caught the descending sword. Before the trooper could recover himself I had pierced him through the side, and he fell with a groan across his horse's neck.

I did not think that Henry had noticed the incident, but without turning his head he cried pleasantly, "My thanks, monsieur; I owe my life to you."

"Have no fear for this side, my lord," I answered, and the next instant was fiercely engaged with two of the king's troopers.

But now the cry of "Coligny!" grew louder; the press was broken here and there; the Admiral himself appeared; some of his gentlemen fought their way to our side, and with one desperate effort we thrust back the hostile horsemen. "Coligny! Coligny! Bearn! Bearn!" were the shouts, as, with swords flashing and gleaming in the sunlight, we pushed a way through. At the same time the rest of the regiment drove back the infantry, and the prince was saved.

"Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm!" cried our leader as he prepared to gallop off, for Cosse's assaults were so rapid and daring that we had hardly a moment's breathing space.

But, as we were moving away, Henry of Bearn, calling me to his side, said, "Your name, monsieur?"

"Edmond Le Blanc, my lord," I answered, bowing low.

"If we live through this day," he said graciously, "I will remember the debt I owe you."

Once again I bowed, and, saluting with my sword, darted off to take my place in the Admiral's train. Whatever Henry's fortune, there appeared considerable doubt as to my surviving the battle, for my patron seemed determined to court death not only for himself but for every gentleman in his household. Wherever the Huguenots recoiled ever so slightly before the terrible onslaughts of the foe, there we were cheering and fighting till our arms were wearied by the work and our heads dazed by the maddening tumult.

And never for a moment during that long summer day did the strife cease. Cosse was inflexible; he sent his troops to death without pity, and they obeyed without a murmur. The carnage was fearful, and I longed for darkness to put an end to the hideous slaughter.

At the end of the afternoon he gathered his forces together for one supreme effort. Horse and foot, they swung along as blithely as if the battle were only beginning. I looked round on our diminished ranks, and wondered if we had strength to withstand another onset.

"'Tis their last try!" exclaimed Felix cheerfully; "if they fail now they will break, and the victory is ours. Half an hour will see the finish; one side must give way."

One side! But which?

On they came, wave after wave, like the waters of an irresistible sea. We waited in painful silence, broken suddenly by the Admiral's voice, "Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm. The end is at hand!"

On they came, bugles blowing, flags flying, horses prancing; the dying sun lighting up the bared swords and pike heads, the steel caps and breastplates. On they came, a goodly and gallant band of well-trained warriors.

"Stand firm, soldiers, stand firm!" Well in front, serene and confident, full of proud courage and high resolve, there was our glorious leader, the best and bravest man in the two armies.

With a roar of cheering and a hurricane rush the foe dashed forward. They struck us in front, they swirled tumultuously around our flanks, driving us back and cheering lustily, "For the King!" The fate of the day hung trembling in the balance, but Henry of Bearn on the one flank, and Conde on the other, rallied their troops, while in the centre the stout old Admiral plunged yet again into the fray.



"Forward! Forward!" we shouted. "On them! They are giving way!" and Felix, snatching a flag from a wounded man, charged with reckless abandon into the very midst of the foe.

"The flag!" I cried, "follow the flag!" Straight ahead of us it went, now waving triumphantly aloft, now drooping, now swaying again, and high above the din of strife sounded my comrade's voice, crying, "For the Admiral! For the Faith! Forward! Forward!"

The daring hazardous exploit sent a wave of fire through every man. We flung off our fatigue as if it were a cloak, dealing our blows as vigorously as though the battle were but newly joined. And as we toiled on, following the flag, a great shout of victory arose on our right. Henry of Bearn had thrust back his assailants; they were running fast, and his horsemen were hanging on their heels like sleuth-hounds.

The cry was taken up and repeated all along the line, and in a few minutes the enemy, smitten by sudden fear, were flying in all directions. For some distance we pursued, sweeping numbers of prisoners to the rear; but our animals were wearied, and presently all but a few of the most fiery spirits had halted.

The victory was ours, but we had bought it at a high price. Some of our bravest officers were dead, and Coligny looked mournfully at his diminished band of attendants. We rode back to our lines, and to me the joy of our triumph was sadly dimmed by the absence of my comrade. In the wild stampede I had lost sight of the flag, and no one had seen its gallant bearer.

"Has Monsieur Bellievre fallen?" asked Jacques, who had ridden well and boldly with the troopers.

"I do not know; I fear so. He was a long distance ahead of us in the last charge. I am going to search for him."

"There is your English friend, monsieur; he is not hurt."

Roger grasped my hand warmly. "Safe!" he exclaimed; "I hardly dared to hope it. It has been a terrible fight. Our poor fellows"—he spoke of the English remnant—"have suffered severely. Where is Felix?"

"We are on our way to look for him; I fear he has fallen."

Roger turned and went with us. "I saw him with the flag," he remarked. "'Twas a gallant deed. It helped us to win the battle. By my word, Cosse must have lost frightfully; the field just here looks carpeted with the dead."

"'Tis a fearful sight to see in cold blood," I replied.

Numbers of men were removing the wounded, but knowing that Felix had ridden some distance ahead we kept steadily on our way.

"'Twas here Cosse's troops began to break," said Jacques presently, "and 'tis hereabout we ought to find Monsieur Bellievre's body."

The words jarred upon me horribly; they expressed the thought I was trying hard to keep out of my head.

We went quickly from one to the other, doing what we could for the wounded, and hurrying on again. It was a gruesome task, and the fear of finding what we sought so earnestly added to the horror.

Suddenly my heart gave a leap, and I ran forward quickly to where I saw the colour of the blood-stained flag. A dead horse lay near it, and by the animal's side lay my comrade. His head was bare, and his fair hair clustered in curls over his forehead. He was very white and still, and his eyes were closed.

"Poor fellow; I fear he is past help," murmured Roger.

"Let us find out," advised the practical Jacques, and, kneeling down on the other side, he assisted me to loosen the doublet.



CHAPTER XVI

A Gleam of Sunshine

"The heart beats, monsieur; faintly, but it beats."

"Are you sure, Jacques? Are you quite certain?"

"I can feel it plainly, monsieur. He has lost a great deal of blood. If we move him the bleeding may begin again; I will fetch a surgeon to dress his wounds here."

It seemed an age before Jacques returned with a surgeon, and meanwhile Felix lay perfectly still. There was not the flutter of an eyelid, not the twitching of a muscle; only by placing a hand over his heart could one tell that he still lived.

The surgeon shook his head as he bound up the wounds, evidently having little faith in my comrade's chance of recovery. We got him back to the camp, however, where Jacques and I watched by turns all night at his side. Toward morning he moved restlessly, and presently his eyes opened.

"Felix," I said softly, with a great joy at my heart, "Felix, do you know me?"

"The flag!" he said feebly, "follow the flag! Forward, brave hearts!" and he would have risen, but I held him down gently.

"The battle is over, Felix; we have won a great victory. It is I, Edmond. You have been wounded, but are getting better. We found you on the field."

"I dropped the flag," he said, smiling at me, but not knowing me.

"It is all right. We picked it up; it is here," and I placed it near him. His hand closed lovingly round the silken folds, and his eyes were filled with deep contentment.

Leaving the room quietly, I called to Jacques, saying, "He is awake, but he does not recognize me."

"Give him time, monsieur; his brain is not yet clear, but he will come round. Sit by him a while, so that he can see you; he will remember by degrees."

Acting on this suggestion, I returned to the bedside and sat down, but without speaking. Felix lay fingering the flag, but presently his eyes sought mine, wonderingly at first, but afterwards with a gleam of recognition in them.

I had sat thus for perhaps half an hour, when he called me by name, and I bent over him with a throb of joy.

"Edmond," he said, "where are we? Is the battle over?"

"Yes, and Cosse has been badly beaten. You were hurt in the last charge."

"Yes," he said slowly, "I remember. Ah, you found the flag!"

"It was lying beside you; your horse was killed."

"A pistol-shot," he said, "and a fellow cut at me with his sword at the same time. But I am tired. Is the Admiral safe?"

"Yes, I am going to him now. Jacques will stay with you, and I will send the surgeon."

Fearing lest he should overtax his strength, I went out, and after a visit to the surgeon proceeded to Coligny's tent. My heart ached as I gazed around at my comrades, and realized more fully what the victory had cost us.

"Is Bellievre likely to recover?" asked one.

"I hope so; he is quite sensible, but very weak."

"He did a splendid thing! The Admiral is very proud of him."

"That piece of information will go a long way toward pulling him through!" I said.

Just then Coligny himself came from his tent, and hearing our talk inquired kindly after my comrade.

"He is sensible, my lord, and I am hoping he may recover," I replied.

"I trust so; we cannot well afford to lose such a gallant lad. I must come to see him presently, and tell him how much we owe him."

"That will do him more good than all the surgeon's skill!" I said.

The excitement of the closing scenes of the battle, the uncertainty as to my comrade's fate, and the long night's watch had driven from my head all remembrance of the incident connected with Henry of Bearn, but the prince himself had not forgotten.

During the forenoon he came riding over to Coligny's quarters, debonair and gracious as ever.

"I have come," said he to the Admiral, "not exactly to pay a debt, but to acknowledge it. I owe my life to one of your gentlemen; but for his bravery and skill with the sword Henry of Bearn would be food for the worms. I trust he still lives to accept my thanks."

"Le Blanc! It is Le Blanc!" murmured my comrades.

"That is the name," said the prince with his frank smile, "and there is the gentleman."

My comrades pushed me forward, and I advanced awkwardly, hot with confusion, but—I have no false shame about admitting the truth—my breast swelling with pride.

"Monsieur," exclaimed the prince genially, "yesterday we had leisure for but little speech, and my thanks were necessarily of the scantiest. To-day I wish to acknowledge before your comrades in arms that, when I was sorely beset and had no thought except to sell my life dearly, you came in the most gallant manner to my rescue. I have not much to offer you, monsieur, beyond my friendship, but that is yours until the day of my death."

He paused here, and, unbuckling his sword, placed it in my hands, saying, "Here is the token of my promise. Should the day ever come when you ask in vain anything that I can grant, let all men call Henry of Bearn ingrate and traitor to his plighted word. I call you, my Lord Admiral, and you, gentlemen, to witness."

I tried to say something in reply, but the words were choked in my throat; not one would come. But a still higher honour was in store for me. The Admiral—the great and good leader whom we all worshipped—removing my sword, buckled on the prince's gift with his own hands.

"I rejoice," said he speaking slowly as was his wont, "that the son of the hero who died for the Cause at St. Jean d'Angely should thus add honour to his father's name."

I managed to stammer out a few words, and then my comrades crowded around, cheering me with generous enthusiasm. And, when the prince had gone, I had the further happiness of conducting the Admiral to our tent, and of hearing the words of praise he spoke to Felix, who would gladly have died a thousand deaths to have secured such honour.

I said nothing to him that day of the prince's gracious gift—he had already had as much excitement as he could bear—but Jacques, of course, had heard of it, and the trusty fellow showed as much pride as if he himself had received a patent of nobility. Roger Braund, too, came to congratulate me, and his pleasure was so genuine that it made mine the greater. Altogether I think that day after the battle of Arnay-le-Duc was the most wonderful of my life.

The defeat of Marshal Cosse was so complete that we met with no further opposition, but pushed on to Chatillon, the sleepy little town which had the honour of being the birth-place of our noble chief. Having to attend on the Admiral, I left my wounded comrade in the care of Jacques, who made him as comfortable as possible in one of the wagons, and waited upon him day and night. Whenever opportunity offered I rode back to see him, and each time found to my delight that he was progressing favourably.

At last we reached the town and rode along the main street through groups of cheering citizens to the castle, a strong and massive fortress with ample accommodation for thousands of persons. It stood in the midst of a vast enclosure, surrounded by a deep and wide fosse; and the thick walls, as Roger remarked, appeared capable of withstanding the assaults of a well-equipped army.

Inside the enclosure were large gardens and handsome terraces, while the huge tower, sixty feet high, looked down into a wide and spacious courtyard.

"This is pleasant and comfortable," said Roger that same evening, "but what does it mean? Why have we come here? I understood we were to march on Paris."

"I do not know; there is some talk of peace. Several important messengers were despatched post-haste to the king directly after the defeat of Cosse."

Roger shrugged his shoulders. "I think it a mistake," he said; "one should never come to terms with an enemy who is only half-beaten; it gives him time to recover."

"Well, this is pleasanter than marching through Dauphigny."

"So it is," he agreed laughingly; "what a magnificent old place it is! Your nobles are very powerful; almost too powerful for the king's comfort I should fancy. How is Felix?"

"Getting well rapidly, and clamouring to leave his bed. As usual, he is just a little too impatient."

"That is his chief failing," said Roger, "but he is a gallant fellow nevertheless. I wonder how your mother and sister are!"

"If we stay here, as seems likely, I shall despatch Jacques on a visit to Rochelle."

"Do not forget to say I send them my deepest respect and sympathy. Indeed, Jacques might carry a little note from me."

"To my mother?" I asked mischievously.

"Of course," he replied, with a blush that became him well; but all the same when, a few days later, Jacques started on his journey, I noticed that Roger's letter was addressed to Jeanne. Perhaps being in a hurry he had made a mistake!

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.

Our entry into the city was very different from that after the rout of Montcontour. Cannon boomed, church bells rang merrily, the streets were gay with flags and flowers and triumphal arches; while the citizens, dressed in their best, with happy smiling faces, cheered until they were hoarse, as the Admiral, with Henry of Bearn on his right and the youthful Conde on his left, rode through the gateway.

Jeanne, with several of the queen's ladies, was sitting in the balcony of the Hotel Coligny. Catching sight of us, she stood up and waved her hand, and we bowed low in our saddles, and smiled, and waved our hands in return.

"Your sister is more beautiful than ever, Edmond," said my comrade enthusiastically.

"She looked paler, I thought," I replied, as we turned into the courtyard; "but now the war is over we shall have a chance to cheer her a little."

"Did she see Roger Braund, do you think?"

"It is likely enough," I laughed; "he is a fair size, and sits up well in the saddle," a harmless pleasantry which, to judge by his peevish exclamation, Felix did not appreciate.

That evening we all met at the reception given by the Queen of Navarre, a reception brilliant by reason of the number of brave men and beautiful women assembled. I had spent an hour alone with Jeanne during the afternoon, and she had told me of our mother's illness, and of her last loving message to myself.

I asked how she came to be in the Queen of Navarre's household, and her eyes kindled and her face flushed as she answered, "Oh, Edmond, the queen has been the kindest of friends! She sought me out in my sorrow, saying it was not right that the daughter of so brave a soldier as my father should be left to bear her grief alone. She insisted on my becoming one of her ladies-in-waiting, and ever since has done her best to make me happy."

My sister was certainly very beautiful, and I could not wonder to see the numbers of handsome and highborn cavaliers who clustered around her that evening. But Jeanne was staunch and leal, and, though courteous to all, it was in the company of her old friends Felix and Roger she found her chief pleasure.

We four were chatting together, and Felix was describing in his lively way some of our adventures, when Henry of Bearn drew near.

"Le Blanc," he exclaimed, looking at me, "surely it is Le Blanc!" and taking my arm he added jovially, "come with me, I must present you specially to my mother. She ought to know to whom she is indebted for her son's life."

Jeanne looked at me in surprise, and as we moved away I heard Felix saying, "I warrant he never told you a word of that. By my faith, one could hardly blame him had he cried it from the housetops!"

Meanwhile the prince marched up the room, his arm placed affectionately on my shoulder, and presented me to the gracious lady who was such a tower of strength to the Cause.

"Madame," he said in his hearty way, "this is the cavalier of whom I spoke. But for his courage Henry of Bearn would have been left lying on the field at Arnay-le-Duc."

She gave me her hand to kiss, and thanked me graciously, saying that while she or her son lived I should not want a true friend.

"Madame," I replied, "in taking my sister under your gracious protection you have already shown your kindness."

"Your sister!" she said in surprise; "who is your sister?"

"Jeanne Le Blanc, whom your Majesty has honoured by making one of your ladies-in-waiting."

"Then you must be the Sieur Le Blanc!"

"Edmond Le Blanc, your Majesty. My father sacrificed his title and his lands, as well as his life, for the Cause!"

"How is this?" asked her son, and when I had related the story, he declared roundly that, with the Admiral's support, he would force the king to restore my rights.

Presently I withdrew, and Jeanne, to whom Felix had related the adventure, kissed me and made much of me, to the envy of my two comrades, who, poor fellows, had no pretty sister of their own. It was a proud night for me, but the shadow of my parents' death lay on my happiness, and I would gladly have sacrificed all my honours for their presence.

"If life at Rochelle is to be as agreeable as this," remarked Roger, with a glance at my sister, "I shall be loth to return to England."

"Then you can be no true Englishman!" laughed Jeanne, as she wished us good-night before going to attend upon her royal mistress.



CHAPTER XVII

The King's Promise

Life flowed very smoothly in La Rochelle during that autumn of 1570. Amongst us at least the peace was not broken, though we heard rumours of dark threats from the Guises, and Coligny received numerous warnings not to trust himself, without an armed force, outside the city walls.

The first break came about with the departure of Roger Braund. An English ship put into the harbour one morning at the end of November, and her master brought a letter which compelled my comrade to return home.

"No," he said in reply to my question, "there is no bad news; it is simply a matter of business. I shall not wish you good-bye; I have still my promised visit to Paris to make. Perhaps we shall all be able to go there together."

What he said to Jeanne I do not know, but she did not seem so much cast down at his departure as I expected, for they two had become very close friends. Indeed, I sometimes thought their friendship was even warmer than that between Jeanne and Felix.

However, we went down to the harbour, Felix and I, and aboard his ship, an uncomfortable-looking craft, with but scanty accommodation for a passenger. But Roger did not mind this. He had sailed in a much worse vessel, he said, and a far longer distance than the passage across the Channel.

Felix shrugged his shoulders. "On land," he remarked, "danger does not alarm me, but I should not care to put to sea in such a boat as that!" in which I was at one with him.

"I will choose a better craft next time," laughed Roger, as, after bidding him farewell, we walked across the gangway to the wharf, where we stood waving our hands until he disappeared from sight.

"Does he really mean to return?" my comrade asked.

"I think so. He has evidently made up his mind to visit Paris."

"I fancy," said Felix rather bitterly, it struck me, "that he will be satisfied with Rochelle, as long as Queen Joan holds her Court there!"

My friend was not in the best of humour, but he recovered his spirits in a day or two, and before a week had passed was as lively and merry as usual. Black Care and Felix were not congenial companions.

Nothing happened after Roger's departure until the spring of 1571, when we heard of the king's marriage with Elizabeth of Germany. None of our leaders attended the ceremony, which seemed to have been a very brilliant affair, the new queen riding into Paris in an open litter hung with cloth of silver, drawn by the very finest mules shod with the same gleaming metal.

A courier who waited upon the Admiral declared that the decorations were a triumph of art, and that the bridge of Notre Dame was like a scene taken bodily from fairy land. A triumphal arch was erected at each end of the bridge; the roadway was covered with an awning smothered in flowers and evergreens, while between every window on the first floor of the houses were figures of nymphs bearing fruits and flowers, and crowned with laurel.

But, although debarred from attending the marriage of the king, we were not without our rejoicings. Our noble leader was married to Jacqueline of Montbel, Countess of Entremont, who came to la Rochelle attended by fifty gentlemen of her kindred. Headed by Coligny, we rode out to meet her, and the cannon thundered forth a joyous salute. The citizens lined the streets, and if our decorations were not as gay as those of Paris, there was, perhaps, a more genuine heartiness in our welcome.

These public rejoicings, however, could not make me forget that my position was still very awkward. My stock of money was dwindling, and I could not expect to live in the Admiral's house for ever; while, as long as we remained at Rochelle, Henry of Beam's generous promise was not likely to bear fruit.

Jacques, who paid one or two visits to Le Blanc, reported that the castle remained closed, and that the tenants on the property had received orders to pay their rents to the crown. This was bad enough, but his second piece of Information made my blood hot with anger.

I asked if he had learned anything of Etienne Cordel, and he replied angrily, "More than enough, monsieur. I shall certainly spit that insolent upstart one of these days. He is giving himself all the airs of a grand personage, and boasts openly that before long he will be the Sieur Le Blanc. He is a serpent, monsieur—a crawling, loathsome, deadly serpent; his breath pollutes the very air."

"He is no worse than his kind," I replied somewhat bitterly. "He is but trying to raise himself on the misfortunes of others."

"Worse than that, monsieur. In my opinion it was he who caused the downfall of your house, for his own wicked ends. Your father's property was to be his reward for doing Monseigneur's dirty work."

"It is likely enough," I replied, "but we can do nothing without the Admiral."

A day or two after this conversation—it was as far as I can remember about the middle of July—Felix came to me in a state of great excitement.

"Have you heard the news?" he asked. "The king has sent for our chief!"

"For what purpose?"

"He has written a most kindly letter and has promised to follow his counsel."

"Faith," said I, "it smacks to me of the invitation of the hungry fox to the plump pullet! I think Coligny will be well advised to remain within the walls of La Rochelle."

The king's letter was the subject of eager discussion, and almost every one declared that our beloved chief would run the greatest risk in accepting the invitation.

"The king may be honest enough, though I doubt it," said one, "but the Guises are murderers; while as for Monseigneur and his mother, I would as soon trust to a pack of wolves!"

Queen Joan, Henry of Bearn, young Conde, and all our leaders, though making use of less blunt speech, were of the same opinion, but the Admiral cared little for his own safety, when there was a chance of benefiting his country.

"The king is surrounded by evil counsellors," he said; "there is all the greater need for one who will tender him honest advice. I have ventured my life freely for France; you would not have me turn coward in my old age?"

"To die on the field of battle, my lord," exclaimed one of his oldest comrades in arms, "and to be stabbed in the back by a cowardly assassin are two very different things."

"You love me over-much," replied the Admiral, placing a hand affectionately on his shoulder; "you are too tender of my welfare. What is one man's life compared with the good of France?"

"Very little, my lord, except when the man is yourself, and then it becomes everything!"

"Well," replied Coligny, "at the least we can ponder his majesty's request."

"He will go," declared Felix that evening; "his mind is made up. With him France is first, second, and third; Coligny is nowhere."

"The king may really mean well," I suggested.

"If he doesn't," said Felix, "and any harm happens to our chief, the House of Valois will rue it! We will clear them out, root and branch."

My comrade foretold the Admiral's decision correctly. With his eyes wide open to the terrible risk, he elected to place himself in the king's power, in the hope of healing the wounds from which France was still bleeding.

Jeanne was so happy with her royal mistress that I felt no misgiving in leaving her, and for myself I was not sorry to exchange the confinement of Rochelle for a more active life. Besides, I could not help reflecting that it was to the Admiral's influence I looked for the recovery of my father's estates.

The evening before leaving La Rochelle I went to take farewell of my sister. "If Roger Braund should return during our absence," I said, "you can tell him we have gone to Blois and perhaps to Paris. What is it, sweetheart?" for at this, a wave of colour spread over her fair face.

"'Tis nothing, brother," said she, gazing earnestly at the ground, "only this very morning the master of an English ship brought me a note from him."

"A note for you! 'Tis strange he did not write to me!"

"He speaks of you in his letter, and hopes you are well. There is some trouble at Court" he says, "and he cannot obtain his queen's permission to leave the country."

"Then we have seen the last of him. I am sorry."

"He thinks he may be able to come in a few months," she continued, but, strangely enough, she did not show me his letter, nor did she mention the subject to Felix, who presently joined us.

The next morning, to the visible anxiety of our friends, we rode out from the city, fifty strong, with the Admiral at our head. We journeyed pleasantly and at our leisure to Blois, where the king accorded our chief a most gracious and kindly reception. If he really meditated treachery, he was a most accomplished actor.

His gentlemen entertained us with lavish hospitality, and, though there were occasionally sharp differences of opinion, we got on very well together. When the king treated our leader so affectionately, calling him "Father," and placing his arm round his neck, the members of the royal household could not afford to be churlish.

One morning I chanced to be in attendance on the Admiral when he and the king were taking a turn in the grounds. Felix and two or three of the king's gentlemen were with me, and we were all chatting pleasantly together when my patron, turning round, beckoned me to approach.

"This is the young man, sire," he said; "he comes from a good family, and I have proved him to be a trusty servant."

"My dear Admiral," cried Charles, "a word from you is sufficient recommendation. But there are forms to be observed, and you would not have me override the Parliament! Eh, my dear Admiral, you would not have me do that," and he laughed roguishly.

"I would have you do nothing unjustly, sire, but I would have you set the wrong right, and this is a foul wrong. The Sieur Le Blanc did nothing more than any other Huguenot gentleman. Why was he outlawed, and a price set on his head, and his property confiscated?"

"Upon my word," exclaimed Charles, looking very foolish, "I do not know!"

"You were pleased at St. Jean d'Angely to call him a very gallant gentleman."

"At D'Angely?" echoed the king. "Are you speaking of the man who set us so long at defiance? My brother was not well pleased with him."

"Your brother, sire, does not rule France."

"No, by St. James!" cried Charles, with sudden fury, "and while I live he never shall! I am the king, and what I wish shall be done. This Le Blanc who fought at D'Angely was as brave a soldier as ever drew sword. Had he been on our side, I would have made him a marshal. I swear it!"

"He fought against you, sire, but it was for what he thought right."

"Perhaps he was right," said Charles. "Why can't we all live at peace with each other? When we have finished cutting each other's throats, the Spaniards will step in and seize the country. I am not a fool, though my brother thinks I am!"

"While France remains true to herself, sire, Spain can do her no harm. And a generous action, your majesty, goes far toward gaining a nation's love."

"You wish me to restore this young man's estates? They shall be restored, my dear Admiral; I will look into the matter on my return to Paris. There will be papers to sign—it seems to me I am always signing papers, principally to please my mother and Monseigneur—in this I will please myself."

"I thank you, sire, not only for myself, but for Henry of Beam, whose life the youth had the good fortune to save, and who is greatly interested in him."

"If it will please Henry of Beam," said the king with an interest for which I could not account, but which became clearer afterwards, "that is a further reason why I should have justice done. Let the young man go to his estates whenever he pleases; I will see that whatever forms are necessary are made out."

At that I thanked his majesty very respectfully, and at a sign from my patron fell back to rejoin my companions. I said nothing to Felix then concerning this conversation, but at night, when we were alone, I told him of the king's promise.

"He will keep his word," said my comrade, "unless Anjou gets hold of him. But if Anjou has promised the estates to his tool, I foresee difficulties."

"Surely the king is master of his own actions!" I remarked.

My comrade laughed. "He is a mere puppet; his mother and Anjou between them pull the strings as they please. Charles is a weakling, Edmond, and easily swayed by other people's opinions."

"He seems to be under the Admiral's influence just at present."

"Yes; it is when he returns to Paris that the trouble will begin. The other side will work hard to drive him away from our patron."

A fortnight passed before I heard anything more of the subject, and I was beginning to feel somewhat doubtful of the king's good faith when one morning the Admiral sent for me.

"His majesty is returning to Paris, Le Blanc," he said, "and I am going for a short while to Chatillon. He has promised to set things right for you, but he may forget, and I shall not be with him."

"It is very kind of you to think of my troubles, my lord."

"I must be true to those who are true to me," he replied graciously, "and I am still deeply in your debt. Now, what is to be done? Until the papers are signed, your tenants must continue to pay their rents to the crown; but it may be as well for you to take the king at his word, and go to your estates. Of course, you will need money, but, fortunately, I can supply that."

"You are indeed generous, my lord; but there is another objection," I stammered out awkwardly.

"What is that?" he asked

"My duty to yourself, my lord. It is not the part of a gentleman of France to leave his chief in danger."

"But I am not in danger, my boy! France is at peace; the king is my friend; we have blotted out the past. Still, should the time come when I have need of a trusty sword, I shall not fail to send for Edmond Le Blanc. I leave Blois in two or three days, but before then I will send my chaplain to you. Keep a stout heart; the king is anxious to stand well with Prince Henry, who will not forget to press your claims."

I took my leave of him with heart-felt gratitude, and sought my comrade, whose face clouded as he listened to my story.

"'Tis good advice, Edmond," he exclaimed dolefully, "and it is selfish in me to feel sorry; but it puts an end to our comradeship."

"Say, rather, it breaks it for a time," I suggested. "As soon as the affair is settled I shall come back."

"Will you?" he cried delightedly; "then I hope the king will sign the papers directly he reaches Paris. I shall be miserable until your return."

"The pleasures of the capital will help to keep up your spirits," I laughed. "It will be a novelty to see our friends attending the royal banquets and receptions. Monseigneur and the Guises will be charmed with your society."

"It is a big risk," he remarked thoughtfully. "I wonder how it will all end?" and I hardly liked to answer the question even to myself.

The next day the chaplain brought me a purse of money, with a kindly message from the chief, who had gone to attend the king, and I told Jacques to prepare for setting out early in the morning.

"Are we going to Paris?" he asked, and I laughed at the amazed expression of his face on hearing that we were about to return home.

"'Tis a long story," I said, "but there will be ample time to tell it on the journey."

I wished my comrades farewell, and early in the morning took my departure from Blois, Felix riding a short distance with me.

"I would we were travelling the whole journey together," he said; "but as that is out of the question I shall pray for your speedy return. Good-bye, Edmond, till we meet again."

"And may that be soon!" I exclaimed warmly.



CHAPTER XVIII

A Warning from L'Estang

The hour being late when we reached Le Blanc, Jacques proposed that we should put up at the inn. Old Pierre came bustling out with a hearty welcome; the horses were stabled, a room was prepared, and by the time we had removed the traces of our journey Pierre brought in a substantial and appetising supper.

"Why, Pierre," I exclaimed laughing, "you must have laid your larder bare!"

"All the larders in the village would be laid bare for monsieur's use," replied the old man, and I believed him.

"Come Jacques," I said, "sit down and fall-to; the ride to-day must have put an edge on your appetite!" for we had eaten nothing since the early morning.

After supper I bade Pierre seat himself and tell us the news of the neighbourhood, which he did willingly, though there was but little to relate. The castle still remained closed, and when I asked about the keys he said they had been taken away by the officer, and no one knew what had become of them.

"That need not keep us out long," said Jacques, "we can easily get fresh ones made in the morning; Urie will see to that."

"Has Etienne Cordel been in the village lately?" I asked.

"He is always here, monsieur," cried the old man with an angry outburst; "he collects the money for the crown, and acts as if he were the rightful owner. He gives himself as many airs as if he were some great lord!"

"Which he may be one of these days; he has powerful friends at Court. Doesn't he talk of what he will do in the future?"

"He tells idle tales, monsieur," replied Pierre with a frown.

"What does he say?"

"That before long the estates will be his own, and that the king has promised to make him the Sieur Le Blanc. He is going to live in the castle and grind us under his feet. But"—and the old man shook his head scornfully—"I don't think his life at the castle will be a long one! A rascally lawyer to be our master, forsooth!"

"Well, Pierre," I said, "at present I intend living there myself, and, I do not suppose Cordel will care to keep me company. Send word to Urie that I shall need his services at daylight, and now we will go to bed; Jacques is half asleep already."

"I do feel drowsy, monsieur," said Jacques, almost as if it were a crime to be tired, "but I shall be fresh by the morning."

The news of my return quickly spread, and next day all the village had assembled outside Pierre's door. Men, women and children were there, and I confess their hearty and genuine welcome touched me very closely. I had always been a favourite with them, and the death of my father, of whose prowess at D'Angely they had heard, increased their love.

"Ho, ho!" exclaimed one burly fellow, "now that our young lord has come back Monsieur Cordel can take himself off, or he will get a taste of my cudgel!"

"No, no, my friend!" I cried hastily, for his companions had begun to cheer, "you must not interfere with Monsieur Cordel, or you will get into trouble. I have returned to Le Blanc by the king's instructions, but his majesty has not yet signed the necessary papers permitting me to take possession of my property. That will come in time, but meanwhile we must be patient and give no cause of offence."

"We will do whatever you tell us, monsieur," they answered.

From the first streak of dawn Urie, the blacksmith and worker in iron, had with the assistance of Jacques been busily fashioning the new keys. It was a troublesome business, and evening was again approaching when I succeeded in entering my old home.

Rather to my surprise, I discovered that the royal troops had committed little damage, and in a few days, through the willing labours of the villagers, everything was restored to its former condition. Several of my father's old servants were eager to return, but, knowing how uncertain the future was, I decided to manage with as few as possible.

"I fear, monsieur," said Jacques one evening, about a week after our return, "that we must expect trouble."

"How so?" I asked.

"Cordel has been in the village, and has gone off in a towering passion. It seems he has only just learned of your arrival, and has let fall several threats to old Pierre."

"Pshaw!" I exclaimed, "what harm can the fellow do us?"

"I do not know, monsieur; but he is a false knave and full of cunning. He will play you a nasty trick if he can find a way!"

"We will wait till that time comes," I replied cheerfully, thinking Jacques had magnified the danger.

Cordel did not tax my patience long. The very next afternoon an officer with an escort of twenty troopers, clattering up to the drawbridge, demanded admittance in the king's name. He was accompanied by the lawyer, and, knowing it would be folly to offer resistance, I ordered the bridge to be lowered.

"Edmond Le Blanc?" said the officer brusquely.

"Permit me to put you right," I replied: "the Sieur Le Blanc!"

He looked at Cordel, who said, "No one bears that name now. His father was outlawed, and his estate confiscated. The castle belongs to the king; this fellow has no right here, and," viciously, "I doubt if he has a right to his life. In any case, as the king's representative, I order you to arrest him!"

"You will be responsible?" asked the officer, who seemed suddenly to have become somewhat timorous. "You will give me an order in writing?"

"I tell you," exclaimed Cordel furiously, taken aback by this question, "that I am carrying out the wishes of Monseigneur. If you desire to make an enemy of him, you must."

"But Monseigneur is not the king," said the perplexed officer.

"You must choose between them," I remarked, rather enjoying his dilemma. "This man appears to shelter himself under the authority of Monseigneur; I am here at the express command of his majesty, to whom, as you wear his uniform, I suppose you are responsible. However, the business is none of mine, but when the king calls you to account, remember that I gave you warning."

"A plague on you both!" cried the officer, now thoroughly exasperated. "To offend Monseigneur will be bad; to offend the king may be worse. Do I understand, monsieur, that you are here by the king's wish?"

"I am acting on his instructions. Of course, if you force me to accompany you, I must submit, but it will be at your own peril."

He drew Cordel aside, and the two conversed earnestly together for several minutes. Then, turning to me, he said, "I am going away, monsieur; when I return it will be with his majesty's order in my pocket."

"You will find me always ready to obey his majesty's commands," I answered, and at that the whole body rode off, Cordel turning round to give me a glance of bitter and vindictive hatred.

"The lawyer's first move!" observed Jacques, who had been standing by my side during the parley, "what will be the second?"

"To seek the advice of his patron. To-morrow most likely he will set out for Paris. It was bound to come to this, but I am rather sorry. Monseigneur has immense influence over the king. I fear that he and the Queen-Mother will prove more than a match for the Admiral. However, we will go on hoping until the worst happens."

The next evening Jacques returned with the information that the lawyer had departed. Having expected this move I was not surprised, but it made my prospects distinctly gloomy. Anjou possessed much influence at Court, and the king was hardly likely to quarrel with his brother over the affairs of an unknown and penniless lad.

Several weeks passed, and even after Cordel's return from Paris I remained in quiet possession of the castle. I received no papers from the king, but, on the other hand, no one made any attempt to molest me. It appeared as if the cloud had passed over without bursting. But I was yet to learn of what Etienne Cordel was capable.

I was sitting one night alone in my room, reading for the second time a letter from Jeanne. She wrote very brightly and hopefully. She continued to be a decided favourite with her royal mistress, and was very happy in her service. This was good news, as I thought it unwise for her to come to Le Blanc until my affairs were settled.

She wrote at great length, too, on a subject that was producing much excitement in Queen Joan's little court. This was a proposal that Henry of Bearn should marry the king's sister, Margaret. Charles was said to be eager for the marriage, which was also approved of by the leading Huguenot gentlemen, but thus far Queen Joan had refused her consent.

"Faith," I said to myself, "nothing could be better; it would give our party a strong friend at Court. It might help me out of my difficulty too. I wish the marriage were taking place to-morrow!"

It was a wild night outside; very cold, with a heavy downfall of rain, while now and then the wind howled round the building in furious gusts. I had put the letter away, and was sitting down again when some one knocked at the door. Knowing it must be Jacques, I told him to enter.

"A wild night, Jacques," I remarked. "We have the best of it indoors."

"Truly, monsieur, only those who are forced will ride abroad in weather like this. But there is one person eager enough for your company to brave the storm. He has travelled far, too, by the look of his horse."

"A visitor for me! Where is he? Who is it?"

"He is in the courtyard, where, if you take my advice, you will let him stay. As to who he is, he either has no name or is too shy to tell it. He is muffled up so closely that one cannot see his face."

"And he will not give his name?"

"He says it is sufficient to tell you he is the writer of the letter from St. Jean d'Angely."

"It is all right, Jacques. Have the horse put in the stables, and bring the rider here."

"Is it wise, monsieur? One cannot be too careful in these days."

"The man is a friend, Jacques, and will do me no harm. You are getting fanciful."

"Very good, monsieur," said he stolidly, and turned away.

"The writer of the letter from St. Jean d'Angely," I said. "He must have come from Paris on purpose to see me! What does he want? Does he bring news? What a dolt Jacques is! Why is he so long? Ah, they are coming!" and in my eagerness I hurried to the door.

My visitor was heavily cloaked and closely muffled, and he made no movement toward undoing his wrappings.

"Is it L'Estang?" I asked, at which he turned as if to remind me that my servant was present.

"You can trust Jacques as you would trust myself," I said; "but come into my room, while he prepares some supper; you are wet; it is a wild night."

"A terrible night, monsieur; I was glad to see the walls of your castle."

Bidding Jacques see that a good meal was got ready, I led my visitor into my chamber, where he removed his hat and cloak, which I sent away to be dried I made him take off his boots, and gave him a change of clothing, for his own was soaked by the heavy rain.

"It is kind of you, monsieur," he said, "but I must depart before morning. I am supposed to be in Paris, and I cannot afford to be recognized here."

"Still," I said pleasantly, "you may as well be comfortable while you remain. No one will see you but Jacques, and I would trust him with my life. Join me when you are ready."

Jacques had everything arranged so that there was no need for any one to enter the room, and at a sign from me he went out, though very reluctantly, being afraid apparently lest my unexpected visitor should have some evil design on my life.

L'Estang sat down to the table and ate and drank like a man who had fasted long.

"It is a curious situation, is it not?" said he presently. "Here am I, in the service of Anjou, accepting the hospitality of one of Coligny's attendants. We ought really to be cutting each other's throats!"

"There can be no question of strife between you and me, L'Estang."

"No," he said slowly, "I am too much in your debt. I have not forgotten."

"You repaid me at D'Angely, and now I fancy I shall be in your debt. You have journeyed from Paris on purpose to see me!"

"To warn you of danger!"

"From Cordel? He is my bitter enemy, and hates me, though I scarcely know why."

"The reason is plain. You are in his way, and baulk his plans. He has been very useful to Monseigneur, and is deep in his secrets."

"But that does not concern me!"

L'Estang looked at me a moment before replying. "It concerns you very nearly, monsieur. Cordel expects to be paid for his work, and his wages were agreed upon long ago. They are the estates of Le Blanc, and a patent of nobility. Cordel flies high."

"It appears so."

"As you know, the estates were confiscated, and he was made receiver for the crown. That was the first step. Good progress had been made with the second, when Coligny appealed to the king at Blois."

"You know that?"

"I am acquainted with many things," he answered, smiling. "The king brought up the subject in Paris; Monseigneur protested, but Charles had one of his obstinate fits and declared he would do as he pleased. Monseigneur went to his mother, who talked to Charles with the result that the papers are still unsigned."

"The Admiral will use his influence," I said.

"The Admiral is a broken reed, monsieur; but if it were not so, your danger would be just as great. Cordel has been in Paris: he is furious at the check to his plans, and afraid lest they should be overthrown. He can see but one way out of the difficulty."

"And that?"

"Is obvious; you are the obstacle in his path, and he intends to remove it."

"You mean that he will try to take my life?"

"If you were dead, he would obtain the estates without trouble, and the patent would follow."

"Pshaw!" I exclaimed, "Etienne Cordel is too timorous a knave to play with naked steel, or even to fire a pistol from behind a hedge!"

"But not too timorous to employ others," said L'Estang. "There are scores of ruffians in Paris ready to earn a few crowns, and Cordel knows where to seek them. That is what brought me here to-night. Weigh well what I say, monsieur. This rascal has marked you down, and sleeping or waking your life is in danger."

I thanked the kind-hearted adventurer warmly for his service—it was strange to think that but for a trifling accident he might have been earning Cordel's pay—and promised to observe the greatest caution.

"If I learn anything more," he said, "I will send you a note by a trusty messenger, and that you may be sure it comes from me I will sign it D'Angely."

"A good suggestion, monsieur. Now, there is still time for an hour or two's sleep before starting on your journey."

"I must not be here at daylight: if Cordel recognizes me, I can do you no more good."

"The mornings are dark; I will call you in ample time, and Jacques will have your horse ready. You can be miles away from Le Blanc before the villagers are stirring."

The heavy supper and the warmth of the room after his cold, wet ride had made him drowsy, and on my promising to call him at the end of two hours he went to bed.