"The Admiral? Monsieur, Guise, and the Grand Prior; Cosseins and Besme
have charge. 'Tis to be done first. Then the Provost will raise the
town. He will have a body of stout fellows ready at three or four
rendezvous, so that the fire may blaze up everywhere at once. Marcel,
the ex-provost, has the same commission south of the river. Orders to
light the town as for a frolic have been given, and the Halles will be
ready."
Nancay nodded, reflected a moment, and then with an involuntary shudder-"God!" he exclaimed, "it will shake the world!"
"You think so?"
"Ay, will it not!" His next words showed that he bore Tavannes' warning
in mind. "For me, my friend, I go in mail to-night," he said. "There
will be many a score paid before morning, besides his Majesty's. And
many a left-handed blow will be struck in the melee!"
The other crossed himself. "Grant none light here!" he said devoutly.
And with a last look he nodded and went out.
In the doorway he jostled a person who was in the act of entering. It
was M. de Tignonville, who, seeing Nancay at his elbow, saluted him, and
stood looking round. The young man's face was flushed, his eyes were
bright with unwonted excitement.
"M. de Rochefoucauld?" he asked eagerly. "He has not left yet?"
Nancay caught the thrill in his voice, and marked the young man's flushed
face and altered bearing. He noted, too, the crumpled paper he carried
half-hidden in his hand; and the Captain's countenance grew dark. He
drew a step nearer, and his hand reached softly for his dagger. But his
voice, when he spoke, was smooth as the surface of the pleasure-loving
Court, smooth as the externals of all things in Paris that summer
evening.
"He is here still," he said. "Have you news, M. de Tignonville?"
"News?"
"For M. de Rochefoucauld?"
Tignonville laughed. "No," he said. "I am here to see him to his
lodging, that is all. News, Captain? What made you think so?"
"That which you have in your hand," Nancay answered, his fears relieved.
The young man blushed to the roots of his hair. "It is not for him," he
said.
"I can see that, Monsieur," Nancay answered politely. "He has his
successes, but all the billets-doux do not go one way."
The young man laughed, a conscious, flattered laugh. He was handsome,
with such a face as women love, but there was a lack of ease in the way
he wore his Court suit. It was a trifle finer, too, than accorded with
Huguenot taste; or it looked the finer for the way he wore it, even as
Teligny's and Foucauld's velvet capes and stiff brocades lost their
richness and became but the adjuncts, fitting and graceful, of the men.
Odder still, as Tignonville laughed, half hiding and half revealing the
dainty scented paper in his hand, his clothes seemed smarter and he more
awkward than usual.