“Monsieur,” a voice exclaimed, “are you awake?  Do not be alarmed; it is I—­L’Estang.”

Hearing me move, he closed the door softly, and came across to the bed.  “You are better,” he said, “I am glad of that, as you must leave Paris.  I have saved your life thus far, but it will be impossible to do so much longer.  Cordel has discovered that you are alive, and his fellows are searching for your hiding-place.  You must go to Rochelle at once; that is your only place of safety.”

“It is easy to say ‘Go to Rochelle,’” I answered a trifle bitterly, “but how is it to be done?  The streets are filled with my enemies who will kill me without mercy, and the gates, no doubt, are strictly watched.”

“Yes,” he replied slowly, “the sentries have been doubled, still it is not impossible to get through, while to stay here means death.  For the sake of your sister you should endeavour to live.”

“What do you propose?” I asked.

“I have a pass from Monseigneur in my pocket.  The officer on duty is commanded to let myself and Louis Bourdonais leave the city without question or delay.  For the time being you are Louis Bourdonais.  As soon as the night becomes darker I will bring a carriage to the house, you will enter, and we will drive to the gate of St. Jacques.  Unless you are recognized there is no danger.”

“And if I am?”

“Then,” said he, “I fear you will share the fate of your friends.”

“And you?”

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 Conde are both prisoners, and may be put to death at any moment; your particular friend, Bellievre, 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 Conde 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.