Catherine did then what she had never done before: she panicked.

She muttered: 'You are right. We must stop it. I will send a message to Guise. The Admiral must not die yet .

But although the dawn was not yet in the sky, all Paris had awakened to the Eve of St Bartholomew.

The Admiral was in too much pain for sleep. Pare had wanted to give him an opiate. but he would not take it. He had much to think of. In an ante-chamber his son-in-law was sleeping, lightly, he surmised, eager to answer his slightest call. Dear Teligny! God had been good to allow him to give his daughter into such hands Nicholas Muss, the Admiral's faithful servant, was dozing in a chair. Merlin, his pastor, sat in another. He had many faithful servants in his house; he had many friends in Paris. The Prince of Conde and the King of Navarre had visited him earlier in the evening, but they had now left for the palace of the Louvre. Ambroise Pare, who had made such great efforts to save his life, had been with him until a few hours ago; he had been reluctant to leave him and would not have done so but for an urgent command from the King himself.

What disquiet there was all through Paris! If only the King would throw off the influence of his mother and his brother Anjou, together with that of the Guises, what good could be achieved! The Admiral knew that they hated him; he knew that when the Queen Mother had uttered her condolences and spoken of her sympathy, she was furiously angry because the shot from the gun of the Guise hireling had failed to kill him outright. He knew that when the King had ordered a guard to protect this house, Anjou and his mother had seen to it that the men who arrived had been led by a certain man named Cosseins, and this man was an old enemy of the Admiral and the Huguenot cause. This was ominous and he knew that danger was all about him and his friends.

How quiet it was tonight! There had been so many nights of feasting and roystering during the celebrations of the wedding that on this night the silence seemed all the more impressive.

He wondered fitfully if he would ever see Chatillon again. Had news reached Jacqueline of his accident? He trusted not. She would be beside herself with anxiety, and that would be so bad for her and the child. He was glad that Francois and Andelot were safe at Chatillon, and Louise with them. Perhaps, if he recovered, as Pare assured him that he would, he would be in Chatillon in a few weeks' time . . . perhaps by the end of September. The roses would not be all gone. What joy to wander in the alleys once more, to gaze at the grey walls of the castle and not care whether he went in or stayed out, since there could be no dispatches waiting for him!

Who knew, perhaps he would be home by the end of September, for it was now nearing the end of August. Today was the . . . yes, the 23rd. St Bartholomew's Eve.

He started suddenly; the sound of bells crashed on the air.

Whence did it come? Who was ringing the bells at this hour? Muss started up from his chair; Merlin opened his eyes.

'Is it morning then?' asked Merlin. 'What mean these bells?'

'I wonder,' said the Admiral. 'Bells before daybreak! What can it mean?'

'And they startled you from your sleep master,' said Muss.

'Nay, I was not sleeping. I was lying here thinking oh, thinking most happily, of my wife and family and my roses at Teligny had come into the room.

'You heard the bells, my son?' asked the Admiral.

'They awakened me, Father. What is the reason for them? Listen. Do you hear? The sound of horses' hoofs . . . coming this way.'

The men looked at each other, but none spoke his thoughts. A great terror possessed them all except the Admiral. For hours now he had lain in pain, expectant, waiting for death; and if this were death it would merely mean that the end of his pain was at hand.

'Muss,' he said, 'go to the window, my friend. Tell us what you see below.'

The man went and, when he drew back the hangings, the room was filled with the wavering light from the torches and cressets below.

'Who is there, Nicholas?' asked the Admiral.

Teligny was at the window. He turned his pale face towards the Admiral and stammered: 'Guise . . . and ten . . . twenty more mayhap.'

Gaspard said: 'They have come for me, my friends. You must help me to dress. I would not care to receive my enemies thus.'

Teligny ran from the room and hurried down the staircase.

'Be on guard!' he shouted to the men who were posted on stairs and in corridors. 'Our enemies are here.'

As he reached the main door, he heard Cosseins shout: 'Labonne, have you the keys? You must let this man through. He has a message from the King to the Admiral.'

'Labonne!' shouted Teligny. 'Let no one in!'

But it was too late. The keys were already in Cosseins' hands. He heard Labonne's shriek; and he knew that that faithful friend had been murdered.

'Fight!' cried Teligny to the men. 'Fight for Coligny and the cause!'

He ran back to the bedchamber, where Merlin knelt in prayer while Muss was helping the Admiral to put on a few clothes. The sound of shots and shouts could now be distinctly heard in the room.

Suddenly a Huguenot soldier burst in upon them. 'Monsieur l'Amiral,' he cried, 'you must fly. You must waste no time. The Guisards are here. They are breaking down the inner door.'

'My friends,' said the Admiral calmly, 'you must go . . . all of you. For myself I am ready for death. I have long expected it.'

'I will never leave you, Father,' said Teligny.

'My son, your life is too precious to be recklessly thrown away. Go . . . go at once. Remember Louise. Remember Chatillon, and that it is for such as you to live and fight on. Do not be over-troubled because I must die. I am an old man and my day is done.'

'I will fight beside you,' said Teligny. 'We may yet escape.'

'I cannot walk, my son. You cannot carry me. It is folly to delay. I hear them on the staircase. That means they are coming over the dead bodies of our faithful friends. Go, my son. Jacqueline will know much sorrow, for this night she will be a widow. If you love my daughter do not subject her to the same fate. You grieve me. I am most unhappy while you stay. Give me the joy of knowing that you have escaped these murderers. Son, I beg of you. There is yet time. The roofs . . . through theabat-son. Now . . . for the love of God, for the love of Louise . . . for Chatillon . . . I beg of you . . . go!'

Teligny kissed his father-in-law and sobbed: 'I will, Father. I will . . . since it is your wish. For Louise . . .'

'I beg of you, make haste. To the attics . . . to the roofs . . .'

'Goodbye, my father.'

'Goodby, my dearest son.'

Gaspard wiped the sweat from his brow, but he was smiling as he saw the last of his son-in-law. He turned to Merlin. 'You too, my dearest friend, go .

'Dear master, I have no wife to make a widow. My place is here with you. I will not leave you.'

'Nor I, master,' said Muss. 'I have my sword and my arm is strong.'

'It is certain death,' said the Admiral wearily. 'We are so few, they so many.'

'But I would not wish for life, master,' said Muss, 'if I left you now.'

'Dear friends, I would not have those who hold you dear, reproach me with your deaths. You would please me if you went. Merlin, you can do much good elsewhere. Go . . . Follow my son-in-law to the roofs. Listen. They are on the staircase now. Merlin . . . I entreat you. I have learned to pray. I can pray without you. You waste a life . . . a Huguenot life. I beg of you. I command you . . .'

The pastor was persuaded that he could do no good by remaining, but old Nicholas Muss was resolutely standing by the bed, his sword in hand, and Coligny knew that nothing he could say to his servant would make him leave his side.

Then Coligny knelt by the bed. He began to pray. 'Into Your hands, oh God, I commend my soul. Comfort my wife. Guide my children, for they are of such tender age . . . Into your hands . . . into your hands . . .'

The door was burst open. Cosseins and a man whom the Admiral recognized as an enemy and whose name was Besme, rushed into the room. Behind them came others, among whom were the Italians, Toshingi and Petrucci. They all wore white scarfs about their arms and crosses in their' hats.

They fell back at the sight of the old man kneeling by the bed. Hastily they crossed themselves. The serenity of the Admiral's face and the calm manner in which he lifted those noble eyes to their faces temporarily unnerved them.

'You are Gaspard de Coligny?' said Toshingi.

'I am. And you have come to kill me, I see. Do what you will. My life is almost over and there is little you can do.'

Nicholas Muss lifted his sword in defence of his master, but the blow was parried by Toshingi, while Petrucci thrust his dagger into the old man's chest. The others crowded round to finish what Toshingi had begun, and Muss fell groaning beside the bed.

'So perish all heretics!' cried one of the men.

This was the signal; together they rushed on the prostrate Admiral. Besme thrust his sword through the body of the noble old man, while all in turn stabbed him with their daggers, each eager to anoint his blade with the most distinguished of the blood that they had promised themselves they would shed that night.

Coligny lay stretched out before them, and they stood silently looking down at him, none willing that his companions should see that look of shame which he feared he might be weak enough to show.

Besme went to the window and opened it.

'Is the deed done?' called Henry of Guise.

'Yes, my lord Duke,' answered Besme.

The Chevalier of Angouleme, bastard of Henry the Second and half-brother to the King, who was below with Guise, shouted: 'Then fling him out of the window that we may see that you speak truth.'

The assassins lifted the body of the Admiral.

'He still lives,' said Petrucci.

'He will not live for long after he has made contact with the courtyard below,' answered Toshingi. 'Ah, my good friend, my noble Admiral, if you had not stooped to pick up a paper when I took a shot at you, what a lot of trouble you might have saved yourself . . . and us! Hoist him, my friends. What a weight he is! Steady . . . Over!'

The Admiral made a feeble effort to grasp the windowsill; one of the men pricked his hand with his dagger and then . . . Gaspard de Coligny was lying in the courtyard below.

The Chevalier d'Angouleme, who had dismounted, said to Guise: 'It is not easy to see that it is he. His white hair is red tonight. It is as though he has followed Madame Margot's fashion and put a wig of that colour on his head.'

Henry of Guise knelt to examine the body. 'It is he,' he said: and he placed his foot on the Admiral. 'At last, Monsieur de Coligny,' he said. 'At last you die, murderer of my father. You have lived too long since you bribed a man to kill Francis of Guise at Orleans.'

Angouleme kicked the body and ordered one of his men to cut off the head.

A cheer went up as the head was held high by the blood-stained hair.

'Adieu, Coligny!' the shout went up.

'Adieu, murderer of Francois de Guise!' cried the Duke; and those about him took up the cry.

'You may take the head to the Louvre,' said Angouleme. 'A gift for the Queen Mother, and one which she has long coveted.'

'What of the body, sir?' asked Toshingi.

'A gift to the people of Paris to do with what they will.'

It was at that moment that a messenger came galloping up.

'From the Queen Mother, my lord Duke. "Stop," she says. "Do not kill the Admiral." '

'Ride back with all speed,' said the Duke. 'Tell the Queen Mother that you came too late. Come, my men. Death to the heretics! Death to the Huguenots! The King commands that we kill . . . kill . . . kill.'

Teligny, from the roofs, looked down on the city. Lights had sprung up everywhere, and there were torches and cressets to pick out the horrible sights. The air was filled with the cries of dying men and women-hoarse, appealing, angry and bewildered.

Which way? Which way to safety and Louise? He knew that the Admiral had no chance of survival, and he must reach those loved ones at the Chateau de Chatillon to comfort them, to mourn with them.

He could already smell the stench of blood. What was happening on this mad, most fantastic of nights? What were they doing down there in the streets? What were they doing to his friends?

He was too young to die. He had not yet lived. The Admiral had known adventure, love, as well as devotion to a cause; he had known the joy of rearing a family; but Teligny as yet knew little of these things. He thought of the fair face of Louise, of walking with her in the flower gardens, through the shady green alleys. How he longed for the peace of Chatillon, how he longed for escape from this nightmare city!

He would wait here on the roof until all was quiet. He would escape through one of the gates of the city. Perhaps he could disguise himself, for if they were murdering the friends of the Admiral, they would never let him live; and he must live; he must get to Chatillon . and Louise.

A bullet whined over his head. He heard a shout from below. They had seen him. They had picked him up by the light from their cressets.

'There he goes . . . On the roof . . .'

There was a hot pain in his arm. He looked about him, bewildered.

'I must escape,' he murmured. 'I must reach Chatillon . . . and Louise . . .'

The torchlight showed him the outline of the roof. He saw the way he had come; the blood he had shed lay behind him in pools like dark, untidy footprints. He could hear the malignant shouting as more shots whined about him.

He clambered on. He was weak and dizzy. 'For Louise . . .' he panted. For Chatillon . . . and Louise . . .'

He was still murmuring 'Louise' when he rolled off the roof.

The mob, recognizing his quivering body, fell upon him and called to one another that Teligny was dead. They tore his clothes to shreds to keep as mementoes of this night.

Margot had gone uneasily to her bedchamber. Her husband was already there. He lay in bed and was surrounded by members of his suite.

She retired to an ante-chamber, called her women to help her disrobe and, when this was done, joined Navarre in the bed.

It seemed that he, like herself, was disinclined to sleep.

She could not forget her sister's words, nor the anger which they had aroused in her mother. Something threatened her, she was sure. She longed for the gentlemen to depart so that she might tell her husband what had taken place, but the gentlemen showed no signs of departing, and Navarre showed no sign of wishing them to do so.

They were excitedly discussing the shooting of the Admiral, and what the outcome would be.

'In the morning,' said Navarre, 'I shall go to the King and demand justice. I shall ask Conde to accompany me, and I shall demand the arrest of Henry of Guise.'

Margot smiled cynically. Her husband had much to learn. Here in Paris. Henry of Guise was of as great importance as the King. No one-not even her mother or brother-would dare accuse Guise in Paris.

They went on talking of Coligny, of the audience they would demand, of the justice for which they would ask. Margot listened. She was tired, yet she could not sleep while the men remained, and her husband did not dismiss them. So the long night dragged on, and at length, declaring that it would soon be day, Navarre announced that he was going to play tennis until the King should wake up. 'Then,' he said, 'I shall, without delay, go to him and demand audience.' He turned to his men. 'Let us go and prepare ourselves for a game. I shall not sleep until I have won justice for Coligny.'

He leaped out of bed and Margot said: 'I will sleep till daybreak. I am tired.'

They drew the curtains about her and left her, and it was not long before she slept.

She was suddenly awakened. In the streets bells were ringing and people were shouting. She sat up in bed listening in amazement, and now she realized that what had awakened her was a repeated hammering on her own door Immediately she remembered the strange events of the previous evening.

The hammering on her door persisted: it was accompanied by loud cries. She listened. 'Open . . . Open . . . For the love of God. Navarre! Navarre!'