She drank a few drops.
"Do not go yet," she said. "I must speak to you."
Philip nodded to Pierre, who left the hut. Claire sat on the cloaks for some minutes, in silence.
"I have been thinking, Monsieur Philip," she said at last, "and it seems to me that it would not be right for me to go with you. I am the promised wife of the Sieur de Pascal, and that promise is all the more sacred, since he to whom I gave it,"--and she paused--"is gone. It would not be right for me to go with you. You shall take me to the Louvre, where I will crave the protection of the King and Queen of Navarre.
"Do not think me ungrateful for what you have done for me. Twice now you have saved my life, and, and--you understand me, Philip?"
"I do," he said, "and honour your scruples. One of my objects, in sending Pierre down into the town again, is to learn what has taken place at the Louvre. It may be that this fiendish massacre has extended there, and that even the King of Navarre, and the Huguenot gentlemen with him, have shared the fate of the others. Should it not be so, it would be best in every way that what you suggest should be carried out.
"As for the Sieur de Pascal, it may be that the blow, that has bereft you of your good father, may well have fallen upon him, also."
"But many will surely escape, as we have done. It cannot be that all our friends--all those who rode in with the princes--can have been murdered."
"Some have doubtless escaped; but I fear that the massacre will be almost universal, for it has evidently been carefully planned and, once begun, will extend not only to the followers of Navarre, but to all the Protestants within the walls of Paris."
"Do you know aught concerning the Sieur de Pascal?" Claire asked, looking up.