Our pulses quickened as we trotted through the Rue Dauphine to the Quai des Augustins, and Marcilly, as he passed the Tudette, pointed to the spire of Notre Dame, standing out high to view, and said: “An omen of success! Our Lady of the Recouvrance looks at us,” and he crossed himself, for he was of the Popish faith. And I wondered in my heart how man could turn to this saint and to that, to relic and graven image, when the very Godhead Himself seemed to hold His face from the creatures He has made. As we approached the Augustins, we could see that the city was garrisoned as if expecting a siege. Everywhere there were guards of soldiery, for the most part foreigners, and it was noticeable that four out of five of the armed groups bore the arms and wore the colors of the Guise. “They seem Guisards to a man, Jean,” I remarked. “Yes,” he answered, “and if we do not succeed we shall have the eagle on our crown pieces.” “There are two strings to our bow, however--Ponthieu has got off safely with his letter.” “True! But will Anne de Montmorenci move? He has, it is said, a thousand lances at his back; but the Guise can lay down three for every one of his.” “Then you put little faith in the Admiral’s letter?” “Yes. If the Constable could have moved he would have done so before. He is not strong enough, and it is well known that the first Christian baron plays well for his own hand. He will wait, and join the winning side--mark my words!” As he said this we reached the quay, and while Badehorn hailed a barge, Marcilly put on his mask, and cocked his hat fiercely on one side of his head, saying, with a laugh: “They know the Prince too well in Orleans for me to appear openly here.” “But masked in full day!” I expostulated. “I have a rash on my face,” he answered; “it will vanish when we see Cipierre, to whom we must go at once. We should be with him in less than an hour. He lives in the Place du Martroi.” “And here is the barge,” I said, and, entering it, we were taken slowly across the river. “There is a large crowd there.” I pointed to the opposite bank, where, on the Quai du Châtelet, a good half of the population of Orleans seemed to have assembled, all making in a westerly direction, and swaying backward and forward, like a wind-stirred field, while every now and again, above the murmuring voices that hummed like a thousand hives, a hoarse shout would be raised that was taken up all along the line, to die again as suddenly as it had sprung up. “It is an expiation,” said our boatman, “a Huguenot who refused to bow to Our Lady of Mercy, in the Rue des Tanneurs, and he is to make expiation there on the quay.” “On the quay? That is strange!” I said. “Why not before Ste. Croix, or in the Martroi?” “Monsieur is evidently a stranger,” replied our Charon; “they do not expiate at Ste. Croix, and the Martroi is kept now for the Prince. ’Tis said he dies on the 10th.”