e a dozen sprang forward to the king's assistance; but before
they reached him he had himself drawn the knife from the wound and
struck the assassin with it on the head. While some, with cries of
grief, ran to support Henry, from whose body the blood was already
flowing fast, others seized and struck down the wretched monk. As they
gathered round him I saw him raise himself for a moment on his knees and
look upward; the blood which ran down his face, no less than the
mingled triumph and horror of his features, impressed the sight on
my recollection. The next instant three swords were plunged into
his breast, and his writhing body, plucked up from the floor amid a
transport of curses, was forced headlong through the casement and flung
down to make sport for the grooms and scullions who stood below.

A scene of indescribable confusion followed, some crying that the
king was dead, while others called for a doctor, and some by name for
Dortoman. I expected to see the doors closed and all within secured,
that if the man had confederates they might be taken. But there was no
one to give the order. Instead, many who had neither the ENTREE nor
any business in the chamber forced their way in, and by their cries and
pressure rendered the hub-bub and tumult a hundred times worse. In the
midst of this, while I stood stunned and dumbfounded, my own risks and
concerns forgotten, I felt my sleeve furiously plucked, and, looking
round, found Simon at my elbow. The lad's face was crimson, his eyes
seemed, starting from his head.

'Come,' he muttered, seizing my arm. 'Come!' And without further
ceremony or explanation he dragged me towards the door, while his face
and manner evinced as much heat and impatience as if he had been himself
the assassin. 'Come, there is not a moment to be lost,' he panted,
continuing his exertions without the least intermission.

'Whither?' I said, in amazement, as I reluctantly permitted him to
force me along the passage and through the gaping crowd on the stairs.
'Whither, man?'

'Mount and ride!' was the answer he hissed in my ear. 'Ride for your
life to the King of Navarre--to the King of France it may be! Ride as
you have never ridden before, and tell him the news, and bid him look
to himself! Be the first, and, Heaven helping us, Turenne may do his
worst!'

I felt every nerve in my body tingle as I awoke to his meaning. Without
a word I left his arm, and flung myself into the crowd which filled the