"One moment, monsieur. Let us pray before we start. We may have no time, there."

And, standing with upturned face, she prayed earnestly for protection.

"Lead us, O G.o.d," she concluded, "through the strife and turmoil; as Thou didst the holy men of old, through the dangers of the lions and the furnace. But if it be Thy will that we should die, then do we commend our souls to Thee; in the sure faith that we are but pa.s.sing through death into life.

"Now I am ready," she said, turning to Philip.

"You cannot go like this, Mademoiselle Claire," Pierre said reverently. "Of what good would that disguise be to you, when your face would betray you in the darkest street? You must ruffle your hair, and pull that hood over your face, so as to hide it as much as possible."

The girl walked across to a mirror.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Philip, Claire and Pierre disguise themselves.]

"I would I could take my sword, Pierre," said Philip.

"Take it, sir. Strap it boldly round your waist. If anyone remarks on it, laugh, and say it was a Huguenot's half an hour ago. I will carry mine stuck under my arm.

"Use as few words as may be, if you have to speak; and speak them gruffly, or they will discover at once that you are no smith. I fear not for ourselves. We can play our parts--fight or run for it.

It is that angel I fear for."

"G.o.d will protect her, Pierre. Ah! They are knocking at the door, and the women of the house may be coming down to open it."

"Not they, sir. You may be sure they are half mad with terror. Not one has shown herself, since the tumult began. The landlord and his two sons are, doubtless, with the city bands. Like enough they have led some of their fellows here, or why should they attack the door, as it is unmarked?"

Claire joined them again. They hurried downstairs, and then out by the back entrance into a narrow lane. Philip carried a heavy hammer on his shoulder. Pierre had a large butcher's knife stuck conspicuously in his girdle. He was bare headed and had dipped his head in water, so that his hair fell matted across his face, which was grimy and black.

Day was now breaking, but the light was as yet faint.

"Keep close to me, Claire," Philip said as they reached the street, which was ablaze with torches. "Above all things do not shrink, or seem as if you were afraid."

"I am not afraid," she said. "G.o.d saved me before from as great a peril, and will save me again, if it seems good to Him."

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Pay no attention to what is going on around you."

"I will pray," she said simply.

Just as they entered the street the crowd separated, and the Duke of Guise, followed by several n.o.bles of his party, rode along, shouting:

"Death to all Huguenots! It is the king's command."

"It is the command you and others have put into his mouth, villain!" Philip muttered to himself.

A roar of ferocious a.s.sent rose from the crowd, which was composed of citizen soldiers and the sc.u.m of Paris. They danced and yelled, and uttered ferocious jests at the dead bodies lying in the road.

Here the work of slaughter was nearly complete. Few of the Huguenots had offered any resistance, although some had fought desperately to the last. Most of them, however, taken by surprise, and seeing resistance useless, had thrown down their arms; and either cried for quarter, or had submitted themselves calmly to slaughter. Neither age nor s.e.x had availed to save them. Women and children, and even infants, had been slain without mercy.

The soldiers, provided with lists of the houses inhabited by Huguenots, were going round to see that none had escaped attack.

Many in the crowd were attired in articles of dress that they had gained in the plunder. Ragged beggars wore cloaks of velvet, or plumed hats. Many had already been drinking heavily. Women mingled in the crowd, as ferocious and merciless as the men.

"Break me in this door, friend," an officer, with a list in his hand and several soldiers standing beside him, said to Philip.

The latter did not hesitate. To do so would have brought destruction on himself and those with him; without averting, for more than a minute or two, the fate of those within. Placing himself in front of the door, he swung his heavy hammer and brought it down upon the woodwork. A dozen blows, and the door began to splinter.

The crack of a pistol sounded above, and the officer standing close to him fell dead. Four or five shots were fired, by the soldiers, at the window above. Another two or three blows, and the door gave way.

Philip went aside as the soldiers, followed by a crowd, rushed in; and returned to Claire, who was standing by the side of Pierre, a few paces away.

"Let us go on," he said.

A few yards further they were at the entrance of a lane running north. As Philip turned into it, a man caught him by the arm.

"Where are you going, comrade?" he said. "There is plenty of work for your hammer, yet."

"I have a job elsewhere," Philip said.

"It is rare work, comrade. I have killed five of them with my own hand, and I have got their purses, too," he chuckled.

"Hallo! Who is this girl you have with you?"

And he roughly caught hold of Claire.

Philip's pent-up rage found a vent. He sprang upon the man, seized him by the throat, and hurled him with tremendous force against the wall; whence he fell, a senseless ma.s.s, on to the ground.

"What is it?" cried half a dozen men, rushing up.

"A Huguenot in disguise," Philip said. "You will find his pockets are full of gold."

They threw themselves upon the fallen man, fighting and cursing to be the first to ransack his pockets; while Philip, with his two companions, moved up the lane unnoticed.

Fifty yards farther Claire stumbled, and would have fallen had not Philip caught her. Her head had fallen forward, and he felt at once that she was insensible. He placed her on a doorstep, and supported her in a sitting position, Pierre standing by. A minute later a group of men came hurrying down the street.

"What is it?" one of the group asked, as he stopped for a moment.

"It is only a woman, squeamish," Pierre said in a rough voice. "She would come with us, thinking she could pick up a trinket or two; but, ma foi, it is hot down there, and she turned sick. So we are taking her home."

Satisfied with the explanation, the men hurried on.

"Shall I carry her, Pierre? Her weight would be nothing."

"Better wait a few minutes, Monsieur Philip, and see if she comes round. Our story is right enough, as long as we stop here; but people might want to know more, if they were to meet you carrying a woman."

Some minutes pa.s.sed, and then, finding that Claire remained unconscious, Philip lifted her on to his shoulder.

"We will risk it, Pierre. As long as we only meet them coming along in twos or threes, we can go on safely; for if they are inquisitive, I can set her down and speedily silence their questioning. If we see a large body coming, we can either turn down a side street or, if there is no turning at hand, can set her down again and answer as before. Every step we get, farther away from the quarter we have left, the better."

He had carried Claire but a few hundred yards, when he felt her move. He at once set her down again, on a doorstep. In a few minutes she was able to stand and, a.s.sisted by Philip, she presently continued her course, at a slow pace. Gradually the movement restored her strength, and she said, speaking for the first time:

"I can walk alone."