“There is no need to fear: Monsieur did the Queen-Mother and the State a great service when he took off his coat for this little affair,” and he half turned toward the group gathered in the centre of the courtyard. I barely caught the words, though they came back to me with their full force very shortly. At the time, however, all that I wanted was to put a distance between myself and the still figure lying there, that but a moment before had been so full of life and strength. I made no answer to the friar, spoke no word of farewell to the others; but fastening the clasp of my cloak, and pulling my hat over my brows, went out, red-handed, into the street. CHAPTER III THE PARTING OF THE WAYS I WALKED rapidly toward the Vallée de Misère, looking neither to the right nor to the left of me. What had happened had not been my fault. The quarrel was none of my seeking, and Lignières would have surely killed me if the luck had been with him. And yet I shuddered at it all. Though I had taken life before, it was in the heat of battle, and the thing had left no impression upon me. But work of this kind was new to me, and, despite my four campaigns and a soldier’s life, it was the first time that a man had died thus at my hands. I felt it as a presage of ill-fortune to come, and full of useless regrets and gloomy forebodings, I moodily paced the foreshore of the river watching the sunset fade from gold to purple, and from purple to gray, that lightened again as the moon rose and hung heavily in the sky, throwing her soft beams on the shadowy, irregular lines of the city and gleaming in scales of silver on the lapping waters of the Seine. It was whilst I stood thus for a moment that I once more heard the voice of the Capuchin uttering his dismal cry: “Alms! Alms! He who giveth unto the poor, lendeth unto the Lord.” He seemed to be coming my way, and the voice sounded quite close. I glanced back, but could see nothing for the quaking mist that rose slowly from the moist banks. Near me was a small boat, and, without more ado, I stepped in and told the boatman to row me down the river. I did this on the impulse of the moment, for I felt it was impossible for me to meet the friar again. I was soon out in mid-stream, far from his presence and out of earshot of his doleful cry, and the boatman, resting on his oars, allowed the skiff to drift slowly down the current. Finally we floated opposite the façade of the Louvre. It was ablaze with light, and, from where I was, I could distinctly see dark shadows flitting hastily to and fro across the windows, and then the trumpets of the archers sounded the assemble, the brazen notes coming harshly to us across the night. Leaning forward on his oars as we rocked on the waters, the boatman asked: “The King goes to-night, does he not, monsieur?” “So ’tis said,” I answered shortly, and then, “Take me back to the quay.”