“Your Majesty, this news from Madrid is serious. In spite of your Majesty’s request of Philip of Spain, M. d’Alava has replied for the second time that the blame of this massacre is upon the Huguenots themselves. He says that the view of his Majesty of Spain is that the blood of these Frenchmen is upon the soul of Coligny, Admiral of France, and that he, and he alone, should be punished.”
“You!—Impossible!”
“Sire, you shall see. Here are other communications. One from Forquevaulx, one from other survivors of the colony, and one from relatives of the slain. Our Ambassador but repeats what D’Alava has said and writes that so pleased is His Majesty of Spain with the acts of this Menendez de Avilés, that he has conferred upon him the title of Marquis of Florida.”
“Foi de gentilhomme! It cannot be so!” said the King.
“It is as I have said, your Majesty. The first Spanish ship to arrive in the Biscayan ports brought some of the officers of San Augustin, and they are to-day the heroes of the hour in the Spanish capital. They also hold certain prisoners who were spared from the massacre, and these too have petitioned you to secure their release. They are held as pirates, which, as your Majesty well knows, they are not.”
“Jour de Dieu!” shouted Charles, rising to his feet. “I myself gave this commission under my own private seal. It is an insult which my brother of Spain offers me, messieurs, an insult—to honor so highly a man who murders my people!” He walked up and down the floor, his hands behind him, his brow clouded, the picture of resolution. Then by a curious inconsistency, he leaned over the stag-hound which followed him, patting it on the head and saying, “Is it not so, Lisette?” as though matters of State had vanished from his memory.
Coligny turned impatiently.
“Sire, I have also the narration of other survivors and I would have you talk with M. de Brésac.”
“Yes, yes, by all means let us hear M. de Brésac.” Whereupon, following the direction of the Admiral, Brésac told again of the day upon the sand-spit before the massacre, when Menendez had given Jean Ribault his promise, under seal, to hold us as honorable prisoners of war; of our desperate condition, of the surrender and of the martyrdom.
Through it all the King sat nervously pulling at his pen and looking at us, his eyes shifting uneasily from the one to the other. Before the tale was far advanced he had the appearance of one most ennuyé who wished to have the audience at an end at the soonest possible convenience. That he and the Admiral had been grievously and publicly insulted was a matter most apparent; and yet all signs of anger had disappeared from his manner, which was now that of a lad awkward and ill at ease in the presence of a company whose thoughts and mission he could not comprehend. Doubtless Coligny understood his mood better than we, but for my part he seemed but as a child to deal with the great national disgrace which was pending upon him if this disagreement with the King of Spain could not be set speedily aright. But suddenly, the horror of the deception came upon him as it had upon M. de Teligny. A phrase or a gesture of De Brésac caught his attention, and he sprang to his feet in the intensity of passion, striding up and down again, saying over and over,