'He sent me because you were ill,' said Madeleine. 'But I was not ill, Madeleine.'

'He must have thought you would need me.'

Marie sank on to her bed and began to cry bitterly.

'What ails you, my little one?' asked Madeleine. 'Tell me, for he has sent me to comfort you. There has been some quarrel?'

Marie shook her head. 'Oh, Nurse, I am so frightened sometimes. What is it? What is happening? Everything seems so strange tonight. I am frightened . . . frightened of his strangeness!'

'It is nothing,' said Madeleine. 'It is only some wild notion that he has got into his head. He thinks we are in danger and he wishes us to protect each other.'

But Marie, feeling the child within her, could not be so easily comforted.

Retz tried to calm the King, but the King was in a frenzy. 'Marie!' he cried. 'Madeleine! Who else?'

He remembered Ambroise Pare; and, ignoring Retz, he rushed to the door of his apartment shouting to his attendants: 'I wish Ambroise Pare brought to me at once. Find him. Lose no time. And when you have found him send him to me . . . at once . . . at once . .

An attendant ran off, spreading the report that the King was ill and calling for his chief doctor.

Retz begged the King to go with him into a small private chamber, and when they were there he locked the door. 'This is madness, Sire. You will betray the plan.'

'But I cannot let Pare die. Pare is a great man. He does much good in France. He saves lives. Pare must not die.' 'You will betray us, Sire, if you act thus.'

'Why does he not come? Fool that he is! He will be caught. It will be too late. Pare, you fool, where are you? Where are you?'

In vain did Retz try to soothe the King. He was unsure of what method was needed to keep Charles balanced between madness and sanity. If he were quite mad, there was no knowing what he might do; yet if he were wholly sane he would not agree to the massacre.

Pare arrived, and when Retz let him into the chamber, Charles fell on him, embracing him, weeping over him.

'Sire, are you ill?'

'No, Pare. It is you . . . you . . . You will stay here. You will not move from this room. If you attempt to, I will kill you.'

Pare looked startled. He expected guards to enter the chamber and arrest him. He could not imagine of what he was about to be accused.

Charles laughed with abandon to see the terror in Pare's face and to guess its reason.

'My prisoner!' he cried in hysterical mischief. 'There will be no escape for you tonight, my friend. You shall stay here under lock and key.'

Laughing wildly, he allowed Retz to lead him away, leaving the bewildered and alarmed surgeon staring at the locked door.

Margot was disturbed. Henry of Guise had failed to meet her as they had planned. What could have happened to detain him?

She had been occupied all that day with the thoughts of two men-Henry of Guise and Henry of Navarre. This was a piquant situation such as she delighted in. This husband of hers was not such an oaf after all. He could be amusing; she was even a little jealous of his pursuit of Madame de Sauves, though she could counter that by continuing her liaison with Henry of Guise. But where had her lover been this night, and why had he not kept his appointment?

It was certainly disturbing. She had met him coming from a council meeting when she had thought he was not even in Paris. She had noticed his discomfiture on meeting her, and he told her somewhat shamefacedly that he had hurried back to the capital in some secrecy. She had accepted that explanation at the time, but now when he did not keep his promise to meet her she began to wonder what was meant by this secret coming and going.

It was now time for her mother's coucher, which she must, of course, attend, and this night there seemed more people than usual in the bedchamber. Margot was suddenly alert. There was something different about these people tonight, some tension, some excitement. Little groups seemed to be whispering animatedly, but it seemed to her that when she approached, the conversation which had previously been so lively became dull and commonplace. Could it be that there was some new scandal in the court of which she knew nothing and which they were keeping from her? Could it be concerned with Guise's failure to keep his appointment?

She sat down on a coffer and looked about her, watching the ceremony of the coucher.

Her mother was now in bed and several people were talking to her.

Then Margot noticed her sister, the Duchess of Lorraine, and she saw that she looked sad and frightened rather than excited.

Margot called to her sister and patted the coffer.

'You look sad tonight, my sister,' said Margot; and she saw that Claude's lips were trembling as though she had been reminded of something which was terrifying.

'Claude, what is it? What is the matter with you?' 'Margot . . . you must not . . .' She stopped.

'Well?' said Margot.

'Margot . . . I am frightened. Terribly frightened.'

'What has happened, Claude? What has happened to everybody tonight? Why do you persist in this secrecy? Tell me!' Charlotte de Sauves was beside them.

'Madame,' she said to Claude, 'the Queen Mother desires you to go to her at once.'

Claude went to the bed, and Margot, watching, saw the angry glance her mother gave her sister, saw Claude bend her head and listen to Catherine's whispered words.

It was bewildering. Margot noticed now that some of those present watched her with concern.

'Marguerite,' called Catherine. 'Come here.'

Margot obeyed. She stood by the bed, aware of her sister's terrified eyes still fixed upon her.

'I did not know that you were here,' said Catherine. 'It is time you retired. Go now.'

Margot wished her, mother goodnight, but even as Catherine waved her impatiently away, she was conscious of her sister's eyes which had not left her. When Margot reached the door Claude darted after her and seized her arm.

Tears ran down Claude's cheeks, 'Margot!' she cried. 'My dearest sister.'

'Claude, are you mad!' cried Catherine.

But Claude was overcome by her fears for her sister. 'We cannot let her go,' she cried wildly. Not Margot! Oh, my God! Oh, dear dear Margot, stay with me this night. Do not go to your husband's apartments.'

Catherine had raised herself from her pillows. 'Bring the Duchess of Lorraine to me this instant . . . this instant . .

Margot stood by, watching Claude almost dragged to their mother's bedside.

She heard her mother's whispered words: 'Have you lost your senses?'

Claude cried: 'Would you send her off to be sacrificed? Your daughter . . . my sister . . .'

'You have lost your senses. What has come over you? Do you suffer from your brother's malady? Marguerite, your sister suffers from delusions. I have already told you it is time you retired. Pray leave us and go to your husband immediately.'

Margot went out, apprehensive and bewildered.

In the King's apartment, where his gentlemen attended his ceremonial coucher, Catholics mingled with Huguenots; there was not, as there had been in his mother's apartments, that atmosphere of secrecy and suspense, and Catholics chatted amicably with Huguenots as they had done each night since they came to Paris for the wedding.

The King felt worn out by the events of the day. He wanted to rest; he wanted to forget everything in sleep.

'How tired I am!' he said; and the Comte de Retz, who had not left his side for many hours, was there to soothe him. 'Your Majesty has had a busy day. You will feel better after a night's rest.'

But, thought Charles, it was no use trying to pretend that this day was just like any other. Tomorrow? How he longed for tomorrow. Then it would be over and done, the rebellion quelled, and he would be safe. He would let Marie and Madeleine out of their little prison. He would release Monsieur Pare. How they would thank him for saving their lives!

His head was throbbing and he could scarcely keep his eyes open. Had there been some drug of his mother's in the wine Retz had brought him, something to make him spend the next hours in sleep?

Huguenot and Catholic! Looking at them, who would believe in this great animosity between them! Why could they not always be friends as they seemed to be now?

Soon the wearisome ceremony would be over, the curtains drawn about his bed, and sleep . . . gentle sleep . . . would come. But what if he dreamed! He had reason to dread his dreams. Dreams of torn flesh . . . mutilated bodies . . . the agonized cries of men and women . . . and blood.

The Duc de la Rochefoucauld was bending over his hand. Dear Rochefoucauld! So handsome and so gentle. They had long been friends; the Duke was one of the few whom Charles really loved; he had always been happy in his company.

'Adieu, Sire.'

'Adieu.'

'May only the pleasantest of dreams attend Your Majesty.'

There was tenderness in those eyes. There was real friendship there. Even if I were not the King he would love me, thought Charles. He is a true friend.

Rochefoucauld was moving towards the door. He would leave the Louvre and go through the narrow streets to his lodgings, accompanied by his followers: he would laugh and joke as he went, for there was none so fond of a joke as dear Rochefoucauld. Dear friend . . . and Huguenot!

No, thought the King. It must not be. Not Rochefoucauld! He threw off his drowsiness. "Foucauld,' he cried urgently, 'Foucauld!'

The Duke had turned.

'Oh, 'Foucauld, you must not go tonight. You may stay here and sleep with my valets de chambre. Yes, you must. You will be sorry if you go, my friend, my dearest 'Foucauld.'

Rochefoucauld looked surprised; but Retz had darted forward.

'The King jests,' said Retz.

Rochefoucauld gave the King a smile and inclined his head slightly while Charles watched him with dazed eyes. He was murmuring under his breath: "Foucauld, come back. 'Foucauld . . . oh, my dear friend . . . not my 'Foucauld.'

Retz drew the curtains about the King's bed.

The coucher was over.

Tears fell slowly down the cheeks of the King of France and there was silence in the Louvre.

Catherine lay in bed counting the minutes as they passed. Two hours, and then she would rise, but she could not lie there waiting. She thought bitterly of that fool Claude, who must have aroused suspicions in Margot's mind. She thought of stupid Charles who, according to Retz, had done his best to warn Rochefoucauld. What if Rochefoucauld had got an inkling? He was one of the Huguenot leaders. What would he do? What would any sane man do if he realized what was afoot? Make counter-plans, of course.

She could not endure it. It was not yet time to rise, but she could not stay in bed. She could not wait for disaster to overtake her. She must act. While she was active she could endure the suspense.

She rose and dressed hastily; she went stealthily along to Anjou's apartment, and drawing the curtain close about his bed, shut herself in with him.

He had not slept for his fear was far greater than hers. She saw the sweat glistening on his forehead; and his hair was uncurled.

'My darling, you must get up and dress,' she said. 'There are some hours yet. But it is better to be dressed.'

'Mother, it is just past midnight, and the bell of the Palais de Justice is not to ring until an hour before daybreak.'

'I know, my son, but I am afraid. I wonder if the folly of your brother and your sister may have disclosed our intentions. I wonder if our enemies plan to strike first. I will give other orders. We must start earlier in case we have been betrayed. We must surprise them. Now rise and dress and I will awaken the King. We should not waste more time in our beds. I must get a message through to Monsieur de Guise. If he knows of the change in our plans, the procedure can be safely left to him.'

'But, Mother, is it wise to change at this late hour?'

'I fear it may be unwise not to. Come.'

This was a better than lying in bed waiting. Action was always more stimulating than idleness. She sent Bouchavannes with a message to the Hotel de Guise, and Retz to awaken the King and send him to her.

She had chosen a position at one of the windows where she might have a good view of what was happening outside; and here the King arrived, bewildered and agitated.

'What means this, Madame?'

'Our plans had to be changed. We have discovered a further and most devilish plot. It is necessary to advance . . . delay is dangerous.'

Charles covered his face with his hands. 'Let us give up this affair. I have had enough of it. If there is a plot against us by the Huguenots there are many Catholics to defend us.'

'What! You would let them come and murder us here in the Louvre!'

'It seems there will be murder in any case.'

His mother and Anjou looked at him in horror. He was mad. He was unaccountable. They had been right not to trust him. How did they know what he would plan from one minute to the next? Delay was dangerous and it was largely due to this unstable King that it was so.

'There must be killing, I know,' sobbed Charles. 'There must be bloodshed and murder. But do not let us start it.'

'Do you realize,' said Catherine quietly, 'that the Huguenots attack our Holy Church? Is it not better that their rotten limbs should be torn asunder, than that the Church. the Holy Bride of Our Lord, should be rent?'

'I do not know,' cried the King. 'I only know that I wish to stop this bloodshed.'

The tocsin of Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois opposite the Louvre began to ring out; and almost immediately it seemed as though all the bells in Paris were ringing.

Noise broke forth. Shouts; screams; laughter that was cruel and mocking; the agonized cries of men and women mingled with their pleas for mercy.

'It has begun then . .' said the King in a whisper.

'God in Heaven!' murmured Anjou. 'What have we done?'

He looked at his mother and he saw in her face that which she had rarely allowed him to see-fear . . . such fear that he never hoped to see in any face again.

She repeated his words softly as though to herself: 'What have we done? And what will happen now?'

'All Hell is let loose!' screamed the King. 'All Hell is let loose.'

'Stop it,' entreated Anjou. 'Stop it before it goes too far. Before we are destroyed . . . stop it, I say!'