on assented, "and the sooner we are within
doors the better."

It was noticeable that throughout their talk which had lasted some
minutes no sign of life had appeared in any of the neighbouring houses.
Scarce a light shone from doorway or window though it was as yet but
nine o'clock. In truth fear of the Sixteen and of the mob whom they
guided was overpowering Paris--was a terror crushing out men's lives.
While the provinces of France were divided between two opinions, and
half of them owned the Huguenot Henry the Fourth--now for two years the
rightful sovereign--Paris would have none of him. The fierce bigotry of
the lower classes, the presence of some thousands of Spanish soldiers,
and the ambition and talents of the Guise family combined at once to
keep the gates of Paris closed to him, and to overawe such of the
respectable citizens as from religious sympathy in rare cases, more
often out of a desire to see the re-establishment of law and order,
would have adopted his cause. The Politiques, or moderate party, who
were indifferent about religion as such, but believed that a strong
government could be formed only by a Romanist king, were almost
non-existent in Paris. And the events of the past day, the murder of
three magistrates and several lower officials--among them poor M.
Portail, whose body now decorated the Rue de Tirchape--had not reassured
the municipal mind. No wonder that men put out their lights early, and
were loth to go to their windows, when they might see a few feet from
the casement the swollen features of a harmless, honest man, but
yesterday going to and from his work like other men.

Young Portail stole to the door of the house and knocked hurriedly. As
he did so, he looked, with something like a shiver of apprehension, at
the window above his head. But the girl neither moved nor spoke, nor
betrayed any consciousness of his presence. She might have been dead. It
was a young man, about his own age or a little older, who, after
reconnoitring him from above, cautiously drew back the door. "Whom have
you with you?" he whispered, holding it ajar, and letting the end of a
stout club be seen.

"No one," Portail replied in the same cautious tone. And he would have
entered without more ado, and closed the door behind him had not his
late companion, who had followed him across the street like his shadow,
set his foot against it. "Nay, but you are forgetting me," he said
good-humouredly.

"Go your way! w