‘The murder of Father Antoine. You will pardon me,’ he continued urgently, ‘but this is no time for words. The Provost-Marshal is even now on his way to arrest you. Your only hope is to evade him, and gain an audience of the king. I have persuaded my uncle to go with you, and he is waiting at his lodgings. There is not a moment to be lost, however, if you would reach the king’s presence before you are arrested.’
‘But I am innocent!’ I cried.
‘I know it,’ M. d’Agen answered, ‘and can prove it. But if you cannot get speech of the king innocence will avail you nothing. You have powerful enemies. Come without more ado, M. de Marsac, I pray,’ he added.
His manner, even more than his words, impressed me with a sense of urgency; and postponing for a time my own judgment, I hurriedly thanked him for his friendly offices. Snatching up my sword, which lay on a chair, I buckled it on; for Simon’s fingers trembled so violently he could give me no help. This done I nodded to M. d’Agen to go first, and followed him from the room, Simon attending us of his own motion. It would be then about eleven o’clock in the forenoon.
My companion ran down the stairs without ceremony, and so quickly it was all I could do to keep up with him. At the outer door he signed me to stand, and darting himself into the street, he looked anxiously in the direction of the Rue St. Denys. Fortunately the coast was still clear, and he beckoned to me to follow him. I did so and starting to walk in the opposite direction as fast as we could, in less than a minute we had put a corner between us and the house.
Our hopes of escaping unseen, however, were promptly dashed. The house, I have said, stood in a quiet by-street, which was bounded on the farther side by a garden-wall buttressed at intervals. We had scarcely gone a dozen paces from my door when a man slipped from the shelter of one of these buttresses, and after a single glance at us, set off to run towards the Rue St. Denys.
M. d’Agen looked back and nodded. ‘There goes the news,’ he said. ‘They will try to cut us off, but I think we have the start of them.’
I made no reply, feeling that I had resigned myself entirely into his hands. But as we passed through the Rue de Valois, in part of which a market was held at this hour, attracting a considerable concourse of peasants and others, I fancied I detected signs of unusual bustle and excitement. It seemed unlikely that news of the priest’s murder should affect so many people and to such a degree, and I asked M. d’Agen what it meant.
‘There is a rumour abroad,’ he answered, without slackening speed, ‘that the king intends to move south to Tours at once.’
I muttered my surprise and satisfaction. ‘He will come to terms with the Huguenots then?’ I said.