The House of the Wolf: A RomanceWeyman, Stanley John
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The House of the Wolf: A Romance
Weyman, Stanley John
Saint Bartholomew's Day, Massacre of, France, 1572 -- Fiction
But I saw no farther. Pavannes did, and murmured bitterly, "We may say
our prayers, we Huguenots. That is our death-warrant. To-morrow night
there will not be one left in Paris, lad. Guise has his father's death
to avenge, and these cursed Parisians will do his bidding like the
wolves they are! The Baron de Rosny warned us of this, word for word.
I would to Heaven we had taken his advice!"
"Stay!" I cried--he was going too fast for me--"stay!" His monstrous
conception, though it marched some way with my own suspicions, outran
them far! I saw no sufficient grounds for it. "The King--the king
would not permit such a thing, M. de Pavannes," I argued.
"Boy, you are blind!" he rejoined impatiently, for now he saw all and
I nothing. "Yonder was the Duke of Anjou's captain--Monsieur's
officer, the follower of France's brother, mark you! And HE--he obeyed
the Duke's ring! The Duke has a free hand to-night, and he hates us.
And the river. Why are we not to cross the river? The King indeed!
The King has undone us. He has sold us to his brother and the Guises.
VA CHASSER L'IDOLE" for the second time I heard the quaint phrase,
which I learned afterwards was an anagram of the King's name, Charles
de Valois, used by the Protestants as a password--"VA CHASSER L'IDOLE
has betrayed us! I remember the very words he used to the Admiral,
'Now we have got you here we shall not let you go so easily!' Oh, the
traitor! The wretched traitor!"
He leaned against the wall overcome by the horror of the conviction
which had burst upon him, and unnerved by the imminence of the peril.
At all times he was an unready man, I fancy, more fit, courage apart,
for the college than the field; and now he gave way to despair.
Perhaps the thought of his wife unmanned him. Perhaps the excitement
through which he had already gone tended to stupefy him, or the
suddenness of the discovery.
At any rate, I was the first to gather my wits together, and my
earliest impulse was to tear into two parts a white handkerchief I had
in my pouch, and fasten one to his sleeve, the other in his hat, in
rough imitation of the badges I wore myself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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