Drawing our mantles up to our faces, we ran with the rest to the courtyard. Already the house was filled with soldiers, and several shrieks of agony told us that they were killing even the poor servants. We heard sterner shouts also, and hoped in our hearts that Carnaton, Yolet, and the few Switzers were making Guise's butchers pay dearly for their cruel treachery.
Guise and Angoulême had not entered the house; they were standing in the courtyard, beneath the window of the Admiral's room, awaiting the completion of the brutal work. We heard the crashing of timber, the cries of the Switzers, and then the tramp of feet up the stairway.
Suddenly the sound ceased, and Felix, turning to me, whispered, "They have broken into his room!"
An awful silence fell upon us in the courtyard as we stood there waiting for the end of the ghastly tragedy.
CHAPTER XXVII
The Day of the Massacre
I always think of this incident in my life with a certain amount of shame; yet even now I cannot see in what I failed. My comrade and I would have spent our lives freely in the Admiral's defence, but what could we do? To fight our way through that mob of soldiers was impossible; we could not have taken two steps without being killed.
And yet—and yet—perhaps it would have been the nobler part to have died with our chief! I remember the look on Roger Braund's face when he heard the story—an expression that plainly asked, "How comes it then that you are still alive?"
If we did indeed act the coward's part the blame must rest on my shoulders; but for me Felix would have flung himself at the troopers and died with the old battle-cry "For the Admiral!" on his lips. It was I who, regarding such sacrifice as sheer folly, kept him back, though my blood boiled and my heart ached at what was going forward.