On the 8th of July, Henry, now King of Navarre, entered Paris, attended by the Prince of Condé, the Cardinal of Bourbon, the admiral, and 800 of the most gallant gentlemen in France, all dressed in mourning garments, very different from the gay costumes worn by the Catholic gentlemen, who went out to meet him. At the gate of St. Jacques he was received by the Duke of Anjou and a magnificent train of nobles and officers attached to the court. The corporation of the city attended in their scarlet robes. Condé and his brother the marquis rode between the Duke of Guise and the Chevalier d’Angoulême; Henry between the king’s two brothers, Anjou and Alençon. The united trains, amounting to 1500 horsemen, proceeded in ominous silence through the crowded streets to the Louvre. No voice was raised to greet the Huguenot princes, though many a murmur showed the feeling of the populace, who from time to time raised the cry of “Guise” or “Anjou.” But the ladies at the windows were more demonstrative, as Henry of Navarre with his handsome features and winning smile bowed to the saddle-bow, or occasionally pointed to some group more attractive than usual, which caught his eye in balcony or window. In after years, he used to look back to this as the happiest day of his life. For a moment the mocking humor of the Parisian populace was overawed. But when the escort began to separate and to move in smaller bodies through the streets to gain their lodgings, the mob recovered their audacity: “Come and see the accursed Huguenots, these outcasts of heaven!” As the Protestants wandered through the city, they greatly offended the superstitious prejudices of the citizens by neglecting to raise their hats as they passed the crosses or the images at the corners. “Deniers of God!” muttered the bigoted priests, as they scowled on the men who passed them with a look of scorn and pity. The Huguenots have been accurately designated as “quasi aliens,”--men alien in language, costume, and religion. For years the sound of psalm-singing had not offended Parisian ears, and now the hated words of Marot were heard once more in their streets. What wonder if there were frequent quarrels, if blood was shed, and if it was found necessary to keep the Huguenots pretty much by themselves. “Both parties,” says Haton, “were armed and equipped as if about to enter upon a campaign.” The Protestants were walking over a volcano, and there were bigots and fanatics among them who seemed to court rather than avoid an explosion.