La Mothe was near the door, his spare figure erect, his look high. He alone carried no arms. I was a few feet from him, with Diane by my side.

In this formation we left the meeting-room, and reached the hall, where the huge iron-studded door was already yielding to the battering from outside.

"Throw open the door," La Mothe called out. Someone, I think it was Ferrieres, stepped forward and undid the bar, springing back quickly as the door flew open; and for an instant we heard a hoa.r.s.e roar, and by the light of many torches, and a huge fire lit in the street, saw a countless swarm of cruel faces. Out we rushed, striking to the right and left, splitting them before us as a plank is split by a wedge. So impetuous was the sally that the crowd gave way on all hands. But our success was only for a moment. They rallied, and surged back, savage, furious, thirsting for blood. I shall never forget that night: the tall, dark houses, the flare-lit street, and that devoted few, around whom the howling mob raged like the sea about some desolate isle.

Still we pushed them back, for they seemed to have no leaders; but now one appeared, a man mounted on a tall white horse, and we began to feel the difference.

"Down with them," he called out; "down with the devil's brood." And the light of a torch falling on his face I saw it was Simon. His words gave courage to the mob. He himself led them on, and then there was fierce, desperate work. We were fighting for our lives--and men fight hard then--and so we beat them off once more, though one or two had fallen, and there was scarcely one of us who was not wounded somewhere.

But they had only gone back to breathe, and came on again in such numbers that those in front could not go back if they would, and I began to think the end was not far. This time they divided us into two, and I found myself in a little group near the wall of the Mathurins, whilst the crowd closed over the rest. Diane was still safe, but there was death all around us, and my heart sank, not for myself but for her whom I loved.

"Leave me, Orrain," she gasped. "Save yourself!"

And for answer I drew her closer to me, and fought as I had never fought before.

The place had become a shambles, though here and there were little knots of Christaudins fighting for their lives. Again and again I strove to cut a way through, but it was impossible. For a moment, however, we found a breathing s.p.a.ce. For one little moment the mob gave way and left us, and it was then that I saw Ferrieres. He had become detached from us, and was alone. Simon was near him, and with a face white with terror he seized my brother's stirrup and begged for mercy. I saw the cruel hand go up; there was a flash of steel, and Ferrieres fell, his grey hairs dabbled in blood, and the white horse trampled over him as Simon turned towards us. The light of fifty torches was on us, and he knew us at once. With a cry like that of an animal he pointed at us.

"There! Those two. A hundred--nay, two hundred gold crowns to him who takes them. On! on!"

And he strove to reach us; but even he, mounted as he was, found the press too great.

But his words were heard, and they came on howling, a ring of snarling faces, of hearts more pitiless than wolves'. Twice they rushed in and twice they fell back, and my sword was red to the hilt. They wavered for a moment, and then came on a third time. One man went down, but someone sprang to my sword arm and pulled me forward. I tripped over something, and came to my knees, and as I did so the mob went over me like a wave, and I heard Diane's voice and its shrill note of agony.

G.o.d knows how I managed it, but I rose to my feet once more--the very thickness of the press perhaps saved me then--but I could see nothing of Diane.

"Diane," I called out, "I am here--here!"

And they laughed at me, and one raising a poniard made a sudden, swift thrust, that would have found my heart, but that a shining blade came between us, and the ruffian fell with a horrid cry. The next moment I heard De Lorgnac's voice. He seemed to have dropped from the clouds.

"Behind me! Your back to the wall till you get breath." And his tall figure faced the crowd; and then I saw what the best sword in France could do, and even I shuddered. They backed before him in a crescent, snarling, growling, and cursing, but never an one dared to come within reach of that long red blade.

Where was Diane? Dizzy and faint I leaned against the wall behind me, my eyes searching here, there, and everywhere. But she was gone; and I cursed my arm that had failed me in my need.

Simon was still some distance away, striving to reach me, and our eyes met. It was enough for me. I sprang at him, past De Lorgnac; and the mob gave, only to wedge me in and bear me backwards, for at this moment there rose a cry:

"The archers! The guards! Fly! Fly!"

Ay! They had come at last! When it was too late, with Martines, the lieutenant of the Chatelet, at their head. They drove the mob before them, striking them down, riding them over, and surrounded the few of us who were left.

In my confusion, as I strove to reach Simon, the hand of some fallen wretch clutched me by the ankle, and I stumbled forward. In a trice I was down, and seized; and struggling desperately, but in vain, was dragged into safety, but a prisoner.

The mob driven off, though not defeated yet, came on again, refusing to be balked of their prey; but disciplined strength was too much for them, and once more they gave way, howling around the few prisoners, whom they were only kept from tearing in pieces by the guards.

By the flare of the torches I saw Martines and Simon riding side by side talking eagerly. Suddenly the latter reined in, sprang from his horse, and lifted something in his arms. It was a woman's figure, limp and lifeless. He placed her on the saddle before him, and mounted again, whilst the mob hooted and jeered, and as the light fell on the white face I saw it was Diane.

Martines leaned forward and looked at her, with pity in his glance; but Simon laughed out:

"_Corbleu_, monsieur! this is the worst Christaudin of them all."

The words roused me to madness, and with a mighty effort I shook myself free and sprang forward, but the b.u.t.t of a lance brought me down, and once more I was seized.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE RING

Late that evening Le Brusquet sat alone in his room in the Louvre, my ring on the table before him. On leaving me that afternoon near the Ladies' Terrace his first thought had been, according to his promise, to return the letters we found to De Ganache; but he was not to be seen. Le Brusquet had sought the tennis courts, haunted the apartments of La Valentinois, and lounged about the lawns where the ladies and gallants of the Court played at _grelot_ of an evening; but in vain.

Finally, he mounted his mule, and ambled off to the great square house behind the Bourgogne, where Antony of Vendome lodged with his train.

Here he made certain he would find De Ganache, who followed the prince; but he was once more disappointed. So, giving up the quest for the present, he supped alone at Crabeau's, in the Rue des Fosses St.

Germain. Then he returned to the Louvre, and sat down to think, as much of his own affairs as of mine. So far as he himself was concerned he felt he had fallen from the favour of the King. This had happened before; but now for the first time he seemed to have no wish to re-establish himself, and a longing came over him to see his little pepper-box of a tower in the Quercy, and to be once more the Sieur de Besme instead of the King of Folly.

"_Eh bien_, Pompon!" he said, addressing the ape, "the kingdom of fools is too wide a realm for one man to rule. I shall abdicate, I think.

What say you? The Roman went back to his plough; Besme will return to his pears."

The ape simply blinked at him from his seat on the table, and, carrying out his humour, Le Brusquet continued:

"You do not approve--eh? What, then, is left for me?" But as he spoke his eyes fell on the ring, and bending over it he continued:

"Yes; this is where I have failed--save for this I should be off to-morrow--but to go with failure behind me----"

He stopped, for someone knocked at his door, and to Le Brusquet's "Enter!" De Lorgnac stepped in. His face was pale and grave, his boots and clothes splashed with mud, and there were red spots on the whiteness of his ruffles.

For one moment Le Brusquet stared at his friend, and then sprang up.

"What has happened?" he cried.

"Everything--and for the worst. They are taken."

"Taken! You mean----"

"I mean Mademoiselle de Paradis and Orrain, and others besides. La Valentinois was too quick, and struck at once."

Le Brusquet swore under his breath, and Lorgnac went on:

"It happened in this way. On leaving Orrain this evening he told me that De Ganache had been arrested."

"De Ganache arrested too!"

"Yes; at sundown near the wicket gate. The full significance of the news did not strike me at first, for there were other reasons, which we know, that might have led to his arrest. On my return to the Louvre, however, I heard sufficient to tell me that La Valentinois and her party meant to act without delay."

"And never a word came to my ears, and I thought them sharp."

Lorgnac took no notice of the interruption, but continued:

"On learning this I hastened after Orrain, hoping to be in time to overtake him and save our friends; but it was not to be." And then he went on to tell him what is already known. When he had done Le Brusquet said nothing, but remained in a moody silence, staring in front of him, and De Lorgnac turned from him to the window and looked out upon the night. After a little he turned again, and putting his hand on Le Brusquet's shoulder, said:

"It looks, old friend, as if we were beaten."

Le Brusquet's eyes flashed. "Not yet! This is the last game I play, and it is not checkmate yet. Where have they taken Orrain?"