It was the fall of the evening, and the moon, almost in its full, had already arisen, dividing the sky with the last lights of sunset. We had turned to the left on reaching the river, our faces towards the Chatelet, whose square grey walls frowned over the Pont au Change.

Here and there the cloud edges still flamed in gold, that slowly faded to a fleecy silver-white before the moonlight. To our left was the long row of gabled houses, some of them seven storeys or more in height, that stretched, a jagged outline of pointed roofs and overhanging turrets, to the Rue St. Denis, there to be split up in the labyrinth of streets between St. Denis, St. Martin, and the purlieus of the Marais and the Temple. Above the houses peered the square tower of St. Jacques de la Boucherie, and in the weird half light the river droned along to our right. A grey, creeping mist was slowly covering the faubourgs and the Ile de la Cite. Through this, as it quivered onwards, one saw a limitless sea of roofs; and sharp and clear, for they were still in light, stood out the lofty campaniles of Ste.

Chapelle and St. Severin. But what caught the eye and arrested the glance was that which rose from the very heart of the great city; for there, looming vast and immense, the stately pile of Notre Dame brooded over Paris.

Mademoiselle shivered on my arm. "Oh, monsieur, these streets, these houses, this immense city, they oppress me like a very spirit of evil!"

"Courage!" I answered. "In two hours we will have left the spirit of evil behind."

And she sighed to herself as we pressed forward. We had pa.s.sed the Vallee de Misere and the Gloriette, and had now come to the fish market. It was here, amidst the raucous cries of buyers and sellers, that the crowd forced us to stop for a little. I drew my companion into the shadow of a booth, and as I did so I heard a fragment of talk between two men a little to one side of us.

"You think it will be successful?"

"Not one will escape. They are like rats in a trap."

The speaker laughed, and I would have sworn I knew the voice.

Mademoiselle had heard too, and her eyes were shining like stars.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered quickly. "Quick! Let us hasten!"

I held her back for a little, until the two had pa.s.sed before us. As the light from the booth fell on them I saw that I was right--the last speaker was Camus, but the other man I knew not.

"Now, across!" I said, as the two were lost in the crowd, and with that I hurried mademoiselle to the other side of the road.

"Monsieur," she said, "these men were talking of us, of my people, I mean--I feel sure of it--and we are too late."

"Not yet!" And I tried to rea.s.sure her, but my heart was full of misgiving. In its wonderful way her woman's instinct had warned her, and I, knowing what I did know, feared the worst despite all my a.s.surances to her to the contrary.

It was night when we reached the Rue des Mathurins, for the way was long. Narrow and dark, the street wound before us. On one side the upper storeys of the houses were white with moonlight; but the opposite side was in shadow, and all around us was a velvet darkness, except where, here and there, a lamp, hanging to a rope slung across the street, cast a feeble and uncertain glow. Some dim figures moved before us, and occasionally we heard a footfall behind. That was all.

We had come to the fifth door on our right. It lay in the black darkness, faced by the huge blank wall of the Mathurins, and not a ray gleamed from any of the windows. All was silent as the grave.

"This is the place," I said, and we stopped.

"Are you sure?" whispered mademoiselle. "It looks deserted; perhaps they have been warned."

But, even as she spoke, we heard faint voices singing. The sound seemed to rise from beneath our feet, and m.u.f.fled and far distant rose the sweet, solemn chant of the Huguenot hymn: "When Israel went forth from Egypt."

"They are there!" And mademoiselle's fingers tightened on my arm.

For answer I was about to step up to the door when hurrying feet came towards us. I pulled mademoiselle back into the deepest shadow, and as I did so two dark figures appeared, and halted before the door. Like us, all unknowing we were so near, they stopped too, listening to the hymn, and after a little one of the two began to sing.

"Hush!" said the other; but the singer answered fiercely:

"I care not, nor do I fear to give my testimony to the Lord."

But now the hymn ended, and the two went to the door. This was my chance, and so, with mademoiselle on my arm, I boldly stepped up and joined them. They turned on us as we came; but I allayed their fears.

"Messieurs, we have come as you have. See! There is a lady with me."

"Then you are well come," answered one, and with that he tapped softly at the door. A shutter opened, and a voice asked:

"Why come ye?"

"For the faith," was the reply.

"Enter, then!" With these words the door swung back, and one by one we pa.s.sed in, I being the last. The door was immediately closed and barred after us, and we found ourselves in the presence of a small, pale-faced man, who peered at us with blinking eyes. The two strangers went on at once, after a word of greeting; but, throwing back her hood, mademoiselle placed her hand on the arm of the little man, saying:

"Ferrieres, do you not know me?"

His dim eyes searched her through the dim light, and an exclamation broke from him.

"Mademoiselle! You! There will be many a glad face to-night. Almost all of us are here."

"Hush!" she said. "I have come to warn you. There is danger at hand.

The edicts are to be enforced again, and at once."

He looked at her, and shook his head.

"Nay, mademoiselle; we have the King's word."

"Tell him, then!" and she turned to me. "Monsieur, this is the Sieur de Ferrieres, who has known me from childhood, and who refuses to believe me--tell him what I say is true!"

I did so in ten words; but the King's word was the King's word to him, and the fool was blind in his folly.

"Then take us to others who will hear," burst out mademoiselle; "in an hour it may be too late; it may be too late even now."

"Surely," he replied, "I will take you to the meeting-place, for you are of the flock, and the Lord is with us to-night; but you are mistaken, that I know."

Mademoiselle glanced at me in despair as we followed him across the hall, and down a stair that led to an underground pa.s.sage. Along this we went, and, our guide gently pushing open a door, we saw before us a large room filled with people of both s.e.xes. All were on their knees, absorbed in prayer. At the upper end of the room was a raised platform, and on this was a single figure, also kneeling, the face covered by the hands.

A whispered "Stay here!" to me, and mademoiselle stepped forward, gliding softly past the bowed figures to the right and left of her until she came to the edge of the platform; and there, unable to interrupt that silent prayer, she too knelt. So for a s.p.a.ce, until at last the pastor rose, and stood surveying the worshippers. For a moment my glance rested curiously on the thin, ascetic face, full of lofty resolve, and then with a rush memory came back to me, and I stood as if lightning-struck. As he looked around my mind went back with a leap to the days gone by, to that hideous morning when my hot hand had struck a death-blow at my friend. It could not be he? And yet! I stared and stared. Yes; it was G.o.defroy de la Mothe, the friend of my youth, whom I had thought I had slain. There was never a doubt of it!

And there, as I stood, the mercy of G.o.d came to me, and the weight of a great sin was lifted from my soul. For moments that seemed years all was a dream, and there was a haze before my eyes. Through this I saw mademoiselle arise and face the preacher; but I could not hear her words, though I saw that she spoke quickly and eagerly. And as she spoke there were whisperings and strange glancings amongst the people, and they pressed forward to listen too, but La Mothe lifted his hand.

"Brethren," he said in deep, sonorous accents, "we have believed the word of a prince, and the tyrant has lied to us. The edicts are renewed. But, brethren, He lives that delivered His people from Egypt.

He lives that defended His Church against Caesars, kings, and profligate princes. His shield is over us, before whose footstool we kneel. Fear not, and be brave! And now, friends, we must part; but, ere we part--some of us, perhaps, never to meet again--let us pray."

He knelt once more, and the people with him, and there was a deep silence, broken at last by La Mothe's solemn voice as he began to pray aloud. And as he prayed there came to us from without the m.u.f.fled tramp of feet, and the murmuring of many voices rising and falling like the swell of the sea, whilst now and again a tongue, shriller and more high-pitched than those of its fellows, would ring out a sharp, menacing bark. Still La Mothe went on unmoved, though uneasy looks were beginning to be exchanged; but at last he too stopped, for the murmurs had swelled to one long roar of savage fury, and the words of the mob reached us distinctly.

"To the fire with them! Death to the Christaudins!"

There was an instant of scared, blanched silence, and then a girl burst into hysterical sobbing, and her voice broke the tension. In a moment all was confusion and terror unspeakable, through which I forced my way to mademoiselle's side. Men shouted and raved, women screamed and prayed. Some flew to the doors, others, again, huddled together like sheep; and from outside rose higher and higher the dreadful voice of the mob, mad with blood l.u.s.t, and ever above all rang out the harsh clang of the tocsin of the Mathurins.

I looked at mademoiselle; her face was white and her eyes were shining, but she held herself bravely. I drew my sword as La Mothe, the old soldier spirit awake within him, called out in a loud voice:

"The women in the centre, gentlemen! Draw swords, and make for the door, else we die here like rats."

His voice rang out clear and strong. The few who retained their heads seconded him well, and in less time that I take to tell this we had ringed in the women, and stood around them with drawn swords.