his feet, saying, "It is all right, Edmond; he has raised a
lump on my head, nothing more; but I fear he has escaped."

"Yes, we should only lose ourselves trying to follow him there. Are you
sure you are not hurt?"

"Quite sure. My head will ache for an hour or two, but I shall be all
right in the morning. I suppose that bullet was meant for you!"

"There can be little doubt of it. L'Estang must have had good ground for
his warning."

"You will have to put an end to this, Edmond."

"As soon as this marriage is over, the Admiral has promised to make
another appeal to the king. With Henry to speak a word for me as well, I
think Charles will restore my estates. At all events, there is the
Spanish war in sight, and Cordel isn't likely to follow me to Flanders."

I spoke lightly, but this second attempt on my life was really a serious
matter, showing as it did that my enemy had not abandoned his design.
The next few days, however, were very busy ones, and the course of
events gave me little leisure for brooding over my own dangerous
position.

The betrothal of the royal pair took place on August 17, at the Louvre,
and was followed by a supper and a ball. Then, according to custom, the
bride was escorted by the king and queen, the queen-mother, monseigneur,
and the leading princes and nobles to the palace of the Bishop of Paris,
where she was to spend the night.

The actual ceremony was fixed for the next day, and we at the _Hotel
Coligny_ were up betimes. Strangely enough, the uneasy feeling of which
I have spoken had increased rather than lessened, though no one could
give any reason for this growing apprehension.

Everything was going well; there was no fresh cause for alarm, and yet
there was not a man amongst us--unless we except our noble leader--who
did not wish the day well over. He was in the highest of spirits,
looking upon the marriage as a public proof that henceforth Charles
intended to rule all his subjects with equal justice. Perhaps he did!

The day was gloriously fine, and hours before the time announced for the
ceremony the streets were thronged with dense crowds of citizens. On the
open space in front of Notre Dame a gorgeous pavilion, in which the
marriage was to be solemnized, had been erected.

Coligny was accompanied by certain of his gentlemen, but most of us were
stationed outside the pavilion. The people glared at us scowlingly, and
even when the grand procession passed on the way to es