"I have been wondering vaguely, Philip," she said, when he had told the story, "how it was that you should have appeared so suddenly, and should have a disguise in readiness for me. But how could you have guessed that I should be ready to go with you?"

And for the first time, a slight tinge of colour came into her cheeks.

"It was scarcely a guess, Claire. It was rather a despairing hope.

It seemed to me that, amid all this terror and confusion, I might in some way be able to rescue you; and I made the only preparation that seemed possible.

"I knew that you were aware that I loved you. When you told me of your engagement, I felt that you were saying farewell to me. When I thought of saving you, it was for him and not for myself; for I knew that you would never oppose your father's wishes. I did not dream of such a general calamity as it has been. I thought only of a rising of the mob of Paris, and that perhaps an hour or two in disguise might be sufficient, until the king's troops restored order."

"It is very wonderful," Claire said earnestly. "It seems, beyond all doubt, that it is G.o.d Himself who has thus given me to you; and I will not doubt that, great as the dangers may seem to be before us, He will lead us safely through them.

"You will make for La Roch.e.l.le?"

"Yes. Once there we shall be safe. You may be sure that there, at least, the cruel orders of the king will be wholly disregarded; as we may hope they will be, in many other towns in which the Huguenots are numerous; but at La Roch.e.l.le, certainly, were all the rest of France in flames, the people would remain steadfast.

"But I do not believe that the power of the Huguenots will be broken. It may be that, in the northern towns, the orders of the king will be carried out; but from thence we have obtained no aid in our former struggles. Our strength in the south will still remain and, though the loss of so many leaders and n.o.bles, here in Paris, will be a heavy blow, I hope that the cause of the faith will speedily rally from it and make head again; just as it did when all seemed lost, after the battle of Moncontour."

So they talked until night fell, with Pierre sitting discreetly in the corner, as far away as possible, apparently sleeping most of the time. As soon as it became perfectly dark, the bundle of clothes was taken from the hiding place and, going outside the hut, Philip and Pierre put on their ordinary attire. Claire had simply slipped on the dress prepared for her over her own, and had but to lay it aside.

After partaking of a meal, they made their way to the nearest steps leading to the top of the wall. One end of the rope was fastened to the parapet, the other was tied round Claire, and she was carefully lowered to the ground. Philip and Pierre slid down the rope after her, and they at once started across the country.

After three hours' walking, they reached the farm where Pierre had left the horses. They left Claire a short distance away. As Pierre had seen the horses put into the stables, he knew exactly where they were. He had, on leaving them there, paid for a week's keep; saying that he might come for them in haste, and perhaps at night, and if so he would saddle and take them off without waking the farmer.

The horses whinnied with pleasure, when Philip spoke to them. The saddles and bridles were found, hanging on a beam where Pierre had placed them; and in two or three minutes the horses were led out, ready to start. Philip had arranged his cloak behind his saddle, for Claire to sit upon; and led the horse to the place where she was awaiting them.

"All has pa.s.sed off well," he said. "No one in the farmhouse seems to have heard a sound."

He leapt into the saddle. Claire placed her foot on his, and he swung her up behind him; and they then started at a brisk trot.

Avoiding all large towns, and stopping only at village inns, they made their way south; making long journeys each day. In the villages there was little of the religious rancour that animated the people in the towns and, after the first two days, Philip found that the news of what had occurred at Paris had not, as yet, spread. Eager questions were asked Pierre as to the grand wedding festivities at Paris; and there was, everywhere, a feeling of satisfaction at a union that seemed to promise to give peace to France.

Claire was generally supposed to be Philip's sister; and the hostesses always did their best to make the girl, with her pale sad face, as comfortable as possible.

Fearing that a watch might have been set at the bridges, they avoided these, crossing either by ferry boats or at fords. The Loire was pa.s.sed above Orleans, and as that city, Blois, and Tours all lay on the northern bank, they met with no large towns on their way, until they approached Chatellerault. They bore to the south to avoid that city and Poitiers and, on the eighth day after leaving Paris, they reached the chateau of Laville, having travelled upwards of two hundred miles.

As they crossed the drawbridge, Philip's four retainers met them at the gate, and greeted him most warmly.

"Is the countess in?" he asked, as he alighted.

"She is, Monsieur Philip. She has been for some days at La Roch.e.l.le, and returned yesterday. There are rumours, sir, that at Poitiers and Niort the Catholics have again, in spite of the edicts, fallen upon the Huguenots; and though the countess believes not the tale, we had a guard posted at the gate last night."

"I am afraid it is true, Eustace," Philip said. "Take the horses round to the stables, and see to them well. They have travelled fast."

Taking Claire's hand, he led her up the steps; and just as he entered the hall the countess, to whom the news of his approach had been carried, met him.

"Aunt," he said, "I confide this lady to your loving care. It is Mademoiselle de Valecourt, now my affianced wife. I have bad news to tell you; but I pray you lead her first to a chamber, for she is sore wearied and in much grief."

"Francois is not dead?" the countess exclaimed in a low voice, paling to the lips.

"I trust not, aunt. I have no reason for believing that he is."

"I will wait here, Philip, with the countess's permission," Claire said. "It is better that you should not keep her in suspense, even for a moment, on my account."

"I thank you, mademoiselle," the countess said, as she led the girl to a couch. "This is but a poor welcome that I am giving you; but I will make amends for it, when I have heard what Philip has to tell me.

"Now, Philip, tell me the worst, and let there be no concealment."

Philip related the whole story of the ma.s.sacre, his tale being interrupted by frequent exclamations of horror, by the countess.

"It seems incredible," she cried, "that a king of France should thus dishonour himself, alike by breaking his vows, disregarding his own safe conduct, and ma.s.sacring those who had accepted his hospitality.

"And Francois, you say, was at the Louvre with the King of Navarre and Conde; and even there, within the walls of the royal palace, some of the king's guests were murdered; but more than this you know not?"

"That is the report that Pierre gathered in the street, aunt. It may have been exaggerated. Everyone eagerly seized and retailed the reports that were current. But even if true, it may well be that Francois is not among those who fell. To a certain extent he was warned, for I told him the suspicions and fears that I entertained; and when he heard the tumult outside, he may have effected his escape."

"I do not think so," the countess said, drawing herself up to her full height. "My son was one of the prince's gentlemen of the chamber, and he would have been unworthy of his name, had he thought first of his personal safety and not of that of the young king."

Philip knew that this was so; and the knowledge had, from the first, prevented his entertaining any great hopes of his cousin's safety. However, he said:

"As long as there was a hope of his being of service to the prince, I am sure that Francois would not have left him. But from the first, aunt, resistance was in vain, and would only have excited the a.s.sailants. Pierre heard that in few cases was there any resistance, whatever, to the murderers. The horror of the thing was so great that even the bravest, awakened thus from their sleep, either fell without drawing sword, or fled."

"What a day for France!" the countess exclaimed. "The Admiral, our bravest soldier, our greatest leader, a Christian hero, slaughtered as he lay wounded! And how many others of our n.o.blest and best! And you say orders have been sent, over all France, to repeat this horrible ma.s.sacre?

"But enough, for the present. I am forgetting my duties as hostess.

Mademoiselle de Valecourt, we are alike mourners--you for your n.o.ble father, I for my son, both of us for France and for our religion. Yet I welcome you to Laville. For you, brighter days may be in store. My nephew is a gallant gentleman, and with him you may find a home far away from this unhappy country. To me, if Francois has gone, Philip will stand almost in the light of a son. Francois loved him as a brother, and he has grown very dear to me, and gladly shall I welcome you as his wife.

"Now, come with me.

"Philip, I leave it to you to send round the news to the tenants, and to see that all preparations are made to leave the chateau, once again, to the mercy of our foes; and to retire to La Roch.e.l.le, where alone we can talk with safety. See that the bell is rung at once. The tenants know the summons and, though little expecting danger, will quickly rally here."

Philip at once went out into the courtyard, and in a minute the sharp clanging of the bell told the country round that danger threatened. The retainers of the chateau ran hastily out, arming themselves as they went; and exclamations of horror and fury broke from them, as Philip told them that the order for the ma.s.sacre of the Huguenots, throughout France, had gone forth; and that already, most of those who rode to Paris with the King of Navarre had fallen.

Then he repeated the countess's order that, upon the following morning, the chateau should be abandoned and all should ride to La Roch.e.l.le; and he despatched half a dozen mounted men, to warn all the Huguenot gentry in the district.

In a few minutes the tenants began to flock in. Although the tale that they heard involved the destruction of their newly-built houses, and the loss of most of their property, this affected them but slightly in comparison with the news of the murder of Coligny, and of so many Huguenot leaders; and of the terrible fate that would befall the Huguenots, in every town in France. Some wept, others clenched their weapons in impotent rage. Some called down the curses of Heaven upon the faithless king, while some stood as if completely dazed at the terrible news.

Philip spoke a few cheering words to them.

"All is not lost yet, my friends. Heaven will raise up fresh leaders for us. Many may fall, but the indignation and rage that you feel will likewise animate all who, dwelling in the country, may escape; so that, ere long, we shall have fresh armies in the field. Doubtless the first blow will be struck at La Roch.e.l.le, and there we will meet these murderers face to face; and will have the opportunity of proving, to them, that the men of the Reformed religion are yet a force capable of resisting oppression, and revenging treachery. There is one thing: never again shall we make the mistake of laying down our arms, confiding in the promises and vows of this perjured king; never again shall we be cozened into throwing away the results of our victories.

"Gather your horses and cattle, as you did before. Take your household goods in carts and, at daybreak, send in here the waggons that you have to provide, in case of necessity."

At noon the next day, the whole of the occupants of the chateau started for La Roch.e.l.le. The tenants, with their cattle and horses and all their portable property, had left at daybreak; and at nightfall the countess and her party came up with them. The encampment was a large one. The women and children slept under the waggons. The men lay down by fires they had kindled, while a portion were told off to keep watch over the animals.

The train had swollen considerably since they had started. Most of the inhabitants of the villages were Huguenots and, as soon as these heard of the ma.s.sacres in Paris and elsewhere, they collected their animals, loaded up their carts, and took the road to the city of refuge.

After four days' travelling, they entered La Roch.e.l.le. The news had arrived before them, being brought by some of those who had escaped the ma.s.sacre, by being lodged without the walls of Paris. The countess and Claire were received at the house of Monsieur Bertram.

Philip found lodgings near them, and the whole of the inhabitants vied with each other, in their hospitable reception of the ma.s.s of fugitives.

Claire was completely prostrated by the events through which she had pa.s.sed, and Monsieur Bertram's daughter devoted herself to her, tending her with unwearied care until, after a week in bed, she began again to gather strength.