th of his party will die with him. The
sacrifice of two or three men will satisfy the loyal party, who will
remain forever your faithful and obedient subjects. War is inevitable.
The Guises on one side, and the Huguenots on the other, cannot be
controlled. Better to win a battle in Paris, where we hold all the
chiefs in our clutches, than to put it to hazard in the field. In this
case pity would be cruelty, and cruelty would be pity."

For an hour and a half the struggle with the weak will of the king
continued. He was violently agitated, but could not bring himself to
order the murder of the guest to whom he had promised his royal faith
and protection. The queen mother grew alarmed. Delay might ruin all, by
the discovery of her plans. At length, with a show of indignation, she
said,--

"Then, if you will not do this, permit me and your brother to retire to
some other part of the kingdom."

This threat to leave him alone to grapple with the difficulties that
surrounded him frightened the feeble king. He rose hastily from his
seat.

"By God's death!" he cried, passionately, "since you think proper to
kill the admiral, I consent." With these words he left the room.

The beginning of the work of bloodshed had been fixed for an hour before
daybreak. But the king had spoken in a moment of passion and agitation.
An hour's reflection might change his mind. There was no time to be
lost. The queen gave the signal at once, and out on the air of that
dreadful night rang the terrible tocsin peal from the tower of the
church of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, the alarm call for which the
white-crossed murderers waited.

Quickly the silence of the night was broken by loud cries, shouts of
vengeance, the tramp of many feet, the sharp reports of musketry. The
work was begun. Every man not marked by a cross was to be slaughtered.
The voice of murder broke fearfully upon the peacefulness of the
recently quiet midnight hour.

The noise roused Coligny. He rose hastily and threw on his
dressing-gown. The cries and shots told him what was going on. He had
trusted the faithless Guises and the soulless De' Medici, and this was
what came of it.

"M. Merlin," he said to a clergyman who was with him, "say me a prayer;
I commit my soul to my Saviour."

Some of his gentlemen entered the room.

"What is the meaning of this riot?" asked Ambrose Pare.

"My lord, it is God calling us," said Cornaton.

"I have long been ready to die," said the