me a strangely pretty one. "Show the
books and point to the cross on them. And Heaven send you safe to your
college."

"I would like to know your name, if you please," said the boy. His
coolness and dignity struck me as admirable under the circumstances.
"I am Maximilian de Bethune, son of the Baron de Rosny."

"Then," said Croisette briskly, "one good turn has deserved another.
Your father, yesterday, at Etampes--no it was the day before, but we
have not been in bed--warned us--"

He broke off suddenly; then cried, "Run! run!"

The boy needed no second warning indeed. He was off like the wind down
the street, for we had seen and so had he, the stealthy approach of two
or three prowling rascals on the look out for a victim. They caught
sight of him and were strongly inclined to follow him; but we were
their match in numbers. The street was otherwise empty at the moment:
and we showed them three excellent reasons why they should give him a
clear start.

His after adventures are well-known: for he, too, lives. He was
stopped twice after he left us. In each case he escaped by showing his
book of offices. On reaching the college the porter refused to admit
him, and he remained for some time in the open street exposed to
constant danger of losing his life, and knowing not what to do. At
length he induced the gatekeeper, by the present of some small pieces
of money, to call the principal of the college, and this man humanely
concealed him for three days. The massacre being then at an end, two
armed men in his father's pay sought him out and restored him to his
friends. So near was France to losing her greatest minister, the Duke
de Sully.

To return to ourselves. The lad out of sight, we instantly resumed our
purpose, and trying to shut our eyes and ears to the cruelty, and
ribaldry, and uproar through which we had still to pass, we counted our
turnings with a desperate exactness, intent only on one thing--to reach
Louis de Pavannes, to reach the house opposite to the Head of Erasmus,
as quickly as we could. We presently entered a long, narrow street.
At the end of it the river was visible gleaming and sparkling in the
sunlight. The street was quiet; quiet and empty. There was no living
soul to be seen from end to end of it, only a prowling dog. The noise
of the tumult raging in other parts was softened here by distance and
the intervening houses. We seemed to be able to breathe more freely.

"This