city and re-enforced the garrison by 500 soldiers, under the command of Andelot, but suffered a bloody defeat (10th August, 1557) a few hours afterward, when his cavalry was routed and his infantry cut to pieces. He himself was wounded and made prisoner, along with Marshal St. André. So complete was the rout, so crushing the defeat--the severest that France had received since the battle of Agincourt--that the Parisians trembled lest the conqueror should appear before their gates. More than once has that beautiful city been spared by the procrastination of a victorious enemy, and the fear of driving a gallant nation to extremity. The fortress of St. Quentin fell on the 27th August, Coligny and his brother Andelot being made prisoners. Such national disasters were regarded as a judgment from heaven, and the evangelicals were made the scape-goats. Priests went into the pulpit and inflamed the passions of their ignorant hearers by the coarsest vituperations. “God is punishing us,” they shouted, “because we have not avenged his honor,” and the populace yielding to the superstitious impulse caught up the cry.[54] They soon had an opportunity of putting into practice the lesson they had been taught. On the night of the 4th September, 1557,[55] a number of adherents of the new religion, amounting to three or four hundred, assembled at a private house in the suburbs on the left bank of the river for the purpose of united worship. The men belonged chiefly to the upper classes, and the women were of good families, some of them being ladies in attendance on the queen.[56] The service had been conducted in quiet, the Lord’s-supper administered, and the congregation was about to separate when they found the street--the Rue St. Jacques--blockaded by a furious mob bearing torches and armed with every weapon they could catch up. “Death to the traitors! down with the Lutherans!” they shouted, as they rushed to the door and tried to force an entrance. They were kept at bay by a few resolute gentlemen who, by their rank, were entitled to carry swords, while the women and the elders sought to escape through the garden which opened into the fields. But every outlet was guarded and all opportunity of flight cut off. What was to be done? Death, a horrible death at the hands of the mob, appeared imminent. The only chance of safety lay in seeking the protection of the magistrates before the city gates were opened, and all the ruffianism of Paris was let loose upon them. With this intent a few gallant gentlemen volunteered to attempt to reach the Hotel de Ville, the others remaining to guard the helpless women and old men. Suddenly the door of the house was thrown open and the desperate little band rushed out and cut its way through the crowd with the loss of only one of their number. Throughout the long night those left behind waited in trembling apprehension for the dawn. They prayed to God for support,