d man, majestic
even in death.

"Ah, at last, Gaspard!" said the Duke de Guise, triumphantly. "Murderer
of my father! thus do I avenge him!"

And the duke dared to plant his foot on the breast of the Protestant
hero.

But instantly the dying warrior opened his eyes, his bleeding and
mutilated hand was clinched for the last time, and the admiral, though
without stirring, said to the duke in a sepulchral voice:

"Henry de Guise, some day the assassin's foot shall be felt on your
breast. I did not kill your father. A curse upon you."

The duke, pale, and trembling in spite of himself, felt a cold shudder
come over him. He passed his hand across his brow, as if to dispel the
fearful vision; when he dared again to glance at the admiral his eyes
were closed, his hand unclinched, and a stream of black blood was
flowing from the mouth which had just pronounced such terrible words.

The duke raised his sword with a gesture of desperate resolution.

"Vell, monsir, are you gondent?"

"Yes, my worthy friend, yes, for you have revenged"--

"The Dugue Francois, haf I not?"

"Our religion," replied Henry, in a solemn voice. "And now," he went on,
addressing the Swiss, the soldiers, and citizens who filled the court
and street, "to work, my friends, to work!"

"Good evening, M. de Besme," said Coconnas with a sort of admiration,
approaching the German, who still stood on the balcony, calmly wiping
his sword.

"So you settled him, did you?" cried La Huriere; "how did you manage
it?"

"Oh, zimbly, zimbly; he haf heerd de gommotion, he haf oben de door unt
I joost brick my rabier troo his potty. But I tink dey am gilling
Teligny now. I hear his gries!"

At that instant, in fact, several shrieks, apparently uttered by a woman
in distress, were heard; the windows of the long gallery which formed a
wing of the hotel were lighted up with a red glare; two men were seen
fleeing, pursued by a long line of assassins. An arquebuse-shot killed
one; the other, finding an open window directly in his way, without
stopping to look at the distance from the ground, sprang boldly into the
courtyard below, heeding not the enemies who awaited him there.

"Kill! kill!" cried the assassins, seeing their prey about to escape
them.

The fugitive picked up his sword, which as he stumbled had fallen from
his hand, dashed headlong through the soldiers, upset three or four, ran
one through the body, and amid the pistol-shots and curses of the