from her first slumber by a man knocking and kicking at her door, with
wild shouts of "Navarre! Navarre!" Her nurse ran to open the door,
thinking that it was the king, her lady's husband. A wounded and
bleeding gentleman rushed in, blood flowing from both arms, four archers
pursuing him into the queen's bedchamber.

The fugitive flung himself on the queen's couch, seizing her in his
alarm. She leaped out of bed towards the wall, he following her, and
still clasping her round the body. What it meant she knew not, but
screamed in fright, her assailant screaming as loudly. Their cries had
the effect of bringing into the room M. de Nancay, captain of the
guards, who could not help laughing on seeing the plight of the queen.
But in an instant more he turned in a rage upon the archers, cursed them
for their daring, and harshly bade them begone. As for the fugitive, M.
de Leran by name, he granted him his life at the queen's prayer. She
put him to bed, in her closet, and attended him until he was well of his
wounds.

Such are a few of the anecdotes told of that night of terror. They might
be extended indefinitely, but anecdotes of murder are not of the most
attractive character, and may profitably be passed over. The king saved
some, including his nurse and Ambrose Pare his surgeon, both Huguenots.
Two others, destined in the future to play the highest parts in the
kingdom, were saved by his orders. These were the two Huguenot princes,
Henry of Navarre, and Henry de Conde. The king sent for them during the
height of the massacre, and bade them recant or die.

"I mean, for the future," he said, "to have but one religion in my
kingdom; the mass or death; make your choice."

The king of Navarre asked for time to consider the subject, reminding
Charles of his promised protection. Conde was defiant.

"I will remain firm in what I believe to be the true religion," he said,
"though I have to give up my life for it."

"Seditious madman, rebel, and son of a rebel," cried the king,
furiously, "if within three days you do not change your language, I will
have you strangled."

In three days Charles himself changed his language. Remorse succeeded
his insensate rage.

"Ambrose," he said to his surgeon, "I do not know what has come over me
for the last two or three days, but I feel my mind and body greatly
excited; in fact, just as if I had a fever. It seems to me every moment,
whether I wake or sleep, that these murdered corpses a