As Philip turned from the spot, the bell of the church of Saint Germain l'Auxerrois peeled forth, and shouts instantly rose from all quarters. As he reached the street in which he lodged, Philip saw that it was already half full of armed men, who were shouting "Death to the Huguenots!" and were hammering at many of the doors. He fell at once into a walk, and made his way through them unmolested, the white badge on his arm seeming to guarantee that he was a friend. He passed his own door, and made for that of the Count de Valecourt. A combat was going on in front of it and, by the light of the torches, Philip saw De Pascal defending himself bravely against a host of enemies. Sword in hand, Philip sprang forward. But before he could make his way through the soldiers, a musket shot rang out, and De Pascal fell dead. Philip drew back. "To our own house, Pierre," he exclaimed to his lackey, who was keeping close behind him; "we can do nothing here, and the door may resist for a few minutes." There was no one in front of the entrance, though at all the doors marked with a white cross the soldiers were hammering with the butts of their arquebuses. They slipped in, pushed the bars across, ran upstairs and made their way on to the roof, and climbed along it until they reached the window of the house in which De Valecourt lodged; felt their way across the room till they discovered the door, issued out and, as soon as they found the staircase, ran down. Already there was a turmoil below. A light streamed out from a door of the count's apartments on the first floor. Philip ran in. Claire de Valecourt was standing with one hand resting on the table, deadly pale, but quiet. She was fully dressed. "Where is your father?" Philip exclaimed. "He has gone down with the servants to hold the stairs." "I will join him," Philip said. "Pierre will take care of you. He knows what to do. We will follow you. Quick, for your own sake and your father's." "I cannot go and leave him." "You will do him no good by staying, and delay may cost us all our lives. You must go at once. If you do not, at the risk of your displeasure, I must carry you." "I will go," she said. "You saved me before, and I trust you." "Trust Pierre as you would trust me," he said. "Now, Pierre, take her hand and hurry her upstairs." The clash of swords, mingled with shouts and oaths, were heard below; and Philip, as he saw Pierre turn with Claire de Valecourt, ran down. On the next landing the count, with four serving men, was defending himself against the assault of a crowd of armed men, who were pushing up the staircase. Others behind them held torches, while some of those engaged in the fray held a torch in one hand, and a sword in the other. "Ah, is it you, Monsieur Fletcher?" the count said, as Philip placed himself beside him, felling one of the foremost of the assailants, as he did so, with a sweeping blow.