d on the margin of the Elysian
lake. King Henry, the Prince of Conde, and a selection of the younger
and gayer Huguenots, were the assailants,--storming Paradise to gain
possession of the nymphs. It was a very illusive armour that they wore,
thin scales of gold or silver as cuirasses over their satin doublets,
and the swords and lances of festive combat in that court had been
of the bluntest foil ever since the father of these princes had died
beneath Montgomery's spear. And when the King and his brothers, one of
them a puny crooked boy, were the champions, the battle must needs be
the merest show, though there were lookers-on who thought that, judging
by appearances, the assailants ought to have the best chance of victory,
both literal and allegorical.

However, these three guardian angels had choice allies in the shape of
the infernal company, who, as fast as the Huguenots crossed swords or
shivered lances with their royal opponents, encircled them with their
long black arms, and dragged them struggling away to Tartarus. Henry of
Navarre yielded himself with a good-will to the horse-play with which
this was performed, resisting just enough to give his demoniacal captors
a good deal of trouble, while yielding all the time, and taking them
by surprise by agile efforts, that showed that if he were excluded from
Paradise it was only by his own consent, and that he heartily enjoyed
the merriment. Most of his comrades, in especial the young Count de
Rochefoucauld, entered into the sport with the same heartiness, but
the Prince of Conde submitted to his fate with a gloomy, disgusted
countenance, that added much to the general mirth; and Berenger, with
Eustacie before his eyes, looking pale, distressed, and ill at ease, was
a great deal too much in earnest. He had so veritable an impulse to leap
forward and snatch her from that giddy revolving prison, that he struck
against the sword of Monsieur with a hearty good-will. His silvered lath
snapped in his hand, and at that moment he was seized round the waist,
and, when his furious struggle was felt to be in earnest, he was pulled
over on his back, while yells and shouts of discordant laughter rang
round him, as demons pinioned him hand and foot.

He thought he heard a faint cry from Eustacie, and, with a sudden,
unexpected struggle, started into a sitting posture; but a derisive
voice, that well he knew, cried, 'Ha, the deadly sin of pride! Monsieur
thinks his painted face ple