f that dreadful time, had actually
come down to examine the half-stripped corpses of the men with whom they
had jested not twelve hours before.

'Ah! it is no wonder,' said the youthful Abbe, as he tenderly lifted
the inanimate figure. 'This has been a night of horrors. I was coming
in haste to know whether the King knows of this frightful plot of M. de
Guise, and the bloody work that is passing in Paris.'

'The King!' exclaimed Diane. 'M. l'Abbe, do you know where he is now?
In the balcony overlooking the river, taking aim at the fugitives! Take
care! Even your _soutane_ would not save you if M. d'O and his crew
heard you. But I must pray you to aid me with this poor child! I dread
that her wild cries should be heard.'

The Abbe, struck dumb with horror, silently obeyed Mdlle. De Ribaumont,
and brought the still insensible Eustacie to the chamber, now deserted
by all the young ladies. He laid her on her bed, and finding he could do
no more, left her to her cousin and her maid.

The poor child had been unwell and feverish ever since the masque, and
the suspense of these few days with the tension of that horrible night
had prostrated her. She only awoke from her swoon to turn her head from
the light and refuse to be spoken to.

'But, Eustacie, child, listen; this is all in vain--he lives,' said
Diane.

'Weary me not with falsehoods,' faintly said Eustacie.

'No! no! no! They meant to hinder your flight, but---'

'They knew of it?' cried Eustacie, sitting up suddenly. 'Then you told
them. Go--go; let me never see you more! You have been his death!'

'Listen! I am sure he lives! What! would they injure one whom my father
loved? I heard my father say he would not have him hurt. Depend upon it,
he is safe on his way to England.'

Eustacie gave a short but frightful hysterical laugh, and pointed to
Veronique. 'She saw it,' she said; 'ask her.'

'Saw what?' said Diane, turning fiercely on Veronique. 'What vile deceit
have you half killed your lady with?'

'Alas! Mademoiselle, I did but tell her what I had seen,' sighed
