He shrugged his shoulders carelessly, saying, "Have no fear for me; I can easily make my peace with Monseigneur."
There seemed to me something cowardly in this running away from danger, but L'Estang mocked at my scruples.
"What can you do?" he asked. "At present there is no Huguenot party. The Admiral, Teligny, La Rochefoucalt, De Guerchy, all are dead; Henry of Navarre and Condé are both prisoners, and may be put to death at any moment; your particular friend, Bellièvre, is slain—I would have saved him for your sake, but was too late. Now, if you stay in Paris, one of two things will happen. You will be discovered here, when every person in the house will be murdered; or you will venture into the street and be clubbed to death in less than five minutes."
"I do not wish to drag you into danger."
"There is no danger to me," he answered rather brusquely, "unless you are obstinate."
"Then I will go with you."
"Very good," he replied, as coolly as if we were about to embark on an enterprise of the most ordinary kind. "I will make my preparations and return in a short time."
He went out softly, and I sat on the side of the bed thinking sadly over the information he had brought. There was no Huguenot party; there were neither leaders nor followers. The assassins had not only lopped the branches but had uprooted the tree. Even Condé and Henry of Navarre were not safe from the royal vengeance! The horror pressed upon me heavily; even now I could scarcely realize the full extent of the fearful business.
I still sat brooding when L'Estang came again, this time bringing a light. He noticed the white band on the ground, and, stooping, picked it up. "It may be disagreeable," he said, "but it is necessary; it has saved your life once. Remember you are Louis Bourdonais, and he would not refuse to wear it."
"'Tis horrible!" I cried, turning from the badge with loathing.