Leaving the Admiral at the Louvre with a small escort, we returned to the Hôtel Coligny, discussing the great event of the day. The citizens were slowly dispersing, and as we passed some of them muttered violent threats against the Huguenots; others cheered for Henry of Guise, a few raised a cheer for Monseigneur, but I did not hear a word of welcome for the king, or for Henry of Navarre, or for our own noble leader—the most chivalrous of them all.
"Charles hasn't increased his popularity by this marriage!" I remarked.
"No," said one of my comrades, "he has lost ground among the Parisians. It will frighten him; he will be more afraid of Guise than ever. How the fools roared for the duke! Perhaps they would like him for king! They would find they had their master, for all his smooth speech and courtly manners."
"The people's coldness may do good in one way," remarked Felix. "Charles may rush into a war with Spain, thinking that a brilliant victory or two would win back his popularity."
"The war with Spain will never come about," growled a grizzled veteran, who had fought with Coligny on his earliest battle-field. "Guise, the Pope, Monseigneur, and the Queen-Mother are all against it, and Charles is just a lump of clay in their hands: they can mould him as they please."
"Well," exclaimed Felix, as we entered the courtyard, "in my opinion it's either a Spanish war, or a civil war, and Charles must take his choice."
CHAPTER XXIV
A Mysterious Warning
It was the evening of August 20. The Louvre was brilliantly illuminated; the gardens and the various apartments were crowded with the beauty and nobility of France. Catholics and Huguenots mingled together on the friendliest terms; everything pointed to peace and goodwill. Henry of Navarre and his handsome queen were there, and so were Monseigneur and Henry of Guise.