ne!
For we'll fight till all be grey--
The Valois at our feet to-day--_"

Raincy stood awhile motionless, the tears running down his face. He was
about to shut the door, when, just where the Duke had sprung upon his
horse, he caught the glimpse of something white on the black drip of the
eaves. He stooped and picked it up. It was the handkerchief his master
had bidden him fetch. It was adorned with the arms of Guise, the Lilies
of France being in the centre. But now the _fleurs-de-lys_ were red
lilies. The blood of the Guise had stained them.

And Raincy stood long, long there in the open street, the sleety snow
falling upon his grey head, the kerchief in his hand, marvelling at the
portent.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE TIGER IN THE FOX'S TRAP

Above, in the Chateau of Blois, there were two men waiting the coming of
Henry, Duke of Guise. One was another Henry, he of Valois, King of
France. He had many things to avenge--his own folly and imprudence most
of all, though, indeed, these never troubled him. Only the matter of
Coligny, and the sombre shades of the dead upon St. Bartholomew's Eve,
haunted his repose.

At the private gathering of the conspirators, the King had found many
who were willing to sympathise with him in his woes, but few who would
drive the steel.

"The Parliament are to make Constable of France the man who is intent on
pulling down my throne. I shudder with horror (he whined) to think that
the nobles of France support the Guises in this--I speak not of fanatic
bishops and loud-mouthed priests, who cry against me from every pulpit
because I will not have more Colignys gibbering at my bed-foot, nor yet
give them leave to burn Frenchmen by the score, as Philip does his
Spaniards t'other side the mountains!"

The Marshal d'Aumont, D'O, and Lognac, the Captain of the Forty-Five
Guardsmen, bowed respectful assent.

"What is the state of France, friends," the King cried, in a frenzy of
rage, "I bid you tell me, when an alien disputes the throne of Francis
First with the legitimate heir of Saint Louis? And what of Paris, my
capital city, wherein I have lived like a bourgeois these many years,
which receives him with shouts and caressings, but chases me without
like a dog?--aye, like a dog!"

The comparison seemed to strike him.

"'Without are dogs,' I have heard the priests say. Well, as to heaven,
it may be so. But as to Paris, be sure that if the dogs are
without--within are wolves