leaped upon the drawbridge among the soldiers, received another
poniard stab which grazed his side, and despite the cries of
"Kill--kill!" which resounded on all sides, and the opposing weapons of
the sentinels, darted like an arrow through the court, into the
vestibule, mounted the staircase, then up two stories higher, recognized
a door, and leaning against it, struck it violently with his hands and
feet.

"Who is there?" asked a woman's voice.

"Oh, my God!" murmured La Mole; "they are coming, I hear them; 'tis
I--'tis I!"

"Who are you?" said the voice.

La Mole recollected the pass-word.

"Navarre--Navarre!" cried he.

The door instantly opened. La Mole, without thanking, without even
seeing Gillonne, dashed into the vestibule, then along a corridor,
through two or three chambers, until at last he entered a room lighted
by a lamp suspended from the ceiling.

Behind curtains of velvet with gold fleurs-de-lis, in a bed of carved
oak, a lady, half naked, leaning on her arm, stared at him with eyes
wide open with terror.

La Mole sprang toward her.

"Madame," cried he, "they are killing, they are butchering my
brothers--they seek to kill me, to butcher me also! Ah! you are the
queen--save me!"

And he threw himself at her feet, leaving on the carpet a large track of
blood.

At the sight of a man pale, exhausted, and bleeding at her feet, the
Queen of Navarre started up in terror, hid her face in her hands, and
called for help.

"Madame," cried La Mole, endeavoring to rise, "in the name of Heaven do
not call, for if you are heard I am lost! Assassins are in my
track--they are rushing up the stairs behind me. I hear them--there they
are! there they are!"

"Help!" cried the queen, beside herself, "help!"

"Ah!" said La Mole, despairingly, "you have killed me. To die by so
sweet a voice, so fair a hand! I did not think it possible."

At the same time the door flew open, and a troop of men, their faces
covered with blood and blackened with powder, their swords drawn, and
their pikes and arquebuses levelled, rushed into the apartment.

Coconnas was at their head--his red hair bristling, his pale blue eyes
extraordinarily dilated, his cheek cut open by La Mole's sword, which
had ploughed its bloody furrow there. Thus disfigured, the Piedmontese
was terrible to behold.

"By Heaven!" he cried, "there he is! there he is! Ah! this time we have
him at last!"

La Mole looked round him for a weapon, but in