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for which that blood has been shed. Once more, I
Edict of Escouan which plunges the dagger of hatred
He was silent. The earnestness of his manner, and the importance of his subject, had given to his pale face an expression such as we may have pictured on that of the prophet of Israel. Again he asked,
of the Solicitor-General. The members of the House all rose, and the cry of "Long live the King!" resounded through the hall.
This unexpected visit made a great sensation in the House, and during the momentary stillness which succeeded this event, a looker-on might have remarked on the one side, pale, anxious faces, and on the other, a universal look of triumph and curiosity.
After a short greeting to the assembly, the King cast a look of searching meaning around, a glance which was well understood, and then ascending the
dais, he issued the command, in an imperious tone, that the discussion which his entrance had inter
The Senator de Viole was seated by a little bed, "On whom, I say, rests the guilt of this persecu-watching the peaceful slumbers of his child—a boy tion? In the words of the prophet Elias, I declare of scarcely four years old. unto thee, as he declared unto Ahab, 'Thou, O king, art he that troubleth Israel.'”
His eye rested on Henry, who quailed beneath his steady glance, and was pale and trembling as a criminal before a judge. The whole assembly were struck dumb with astonishment and consternation. Every eye was on the King. In vain he tried to collect his senses, and to re-assume his firmness and self-control; and after an ineffectual effort to speak, he rose hastily from his seat, and breaking up the conference, left the hall.
"It is true," he began, in the deepest tones of his rich voice, and his eye sparkled beneath his dark and overhanging brow," It is true that this spirit of persecution is spreading in our beloved country, and that its advocates are stirring up grievous strife. It has set our peaceful citizens and countrymen in arms against the holiest and the dearest of our rights. That spirit has done it, which, trampling under foot the God-bestowed, sacred right of man, condemns a brother who may differ from him in faith to the scaffold, to the dungeon, or to the stake. God, I say, hath given to man that which persecution would wrench from him-liberty of thought and liberty of faith. Good, loyal subjects of our sovereign lord the King,—faithful, true-hearted men are the Protestants; but it is this same spirit of persecution which compels the hand which should be guiding the plough to take up the sword and shield, and those that would be laboring for their wives and children in some innocent and useful craft, are driven from the shelter and peace of home to scenes of tumult and bloodshed. Your priests, too, unable to destroy the blessed word of God itself, "In these walls," he said, “truth and justice slaughter, burn, and imprison every faithful soul have ever found an asylum. Violate them not towho dares to wield that sword of the Spirit. It is day. Give not an example which the nation may the same leaven which worked the destruction of imitate, and thus deluge your country with lood!" the murdered Albigenses; but lay it well to heart This appeal had an extraordinary effect, and, although in some confusion, the members at length dispersed.
As soon as the doors were closed after his depart-
that the blood of his slaughtered saints crieth unto God from the ground, and that blood will be required
at the hand of those who shed it. Yes, there is an The news of this scene soon transpired in Paris. avenger of His people, whose arm is not shortened There was scarcely a house or cottage in which the that it cannot save. It may not be stretched forth affair was not discussed. Even in those who had to-day nor to-morrow, but it shall surely fall on the no sympathy with the opinions of Viole, an interest adversaries of Truth, and that without mercy. I and admiration were awakened for the man who confess joyfully before God and man this day, that could thus boldly profess his faith before the king I belong to the Church which holds the pure Word himself; and perhaps Protestantism gained more of God as that inestimable, imperishable treasure ground in the affections of the people on that day which the power of man cannot take away. Fear than it had done for a whole year previously. But not them, then, which kill the body, the soul they in the Louvre, in the hotel of the Duke of Guise, can never touch. The Word, too, is indestructible; and in the Archbishop's Palace, everything was and as in the days of Christ's early followers, so in commotion and excitement. The immediate now the martyrs' blood shall but spread the truth enforcement of the Edict of Escouan was urged on
The child was his only one-the sole treasure saved from the wreck of his domestic joys.
His beloved wife was no more; and it seemed as though his soul poured forth its entire stream of love on the child which she had left him. He held the little sleeper's hand; and as he listened to the quiet breathing, amidst the disturbance of the elements, he forgot the tempest without and the late stormy passage in the earlier part of the day.
Suddenly the remembrance flashed upon him, and, without any apprehension that immediate danger was at hand, he meditated upon it. A hasty knock was at this moment heard at the door; the servants opened it, and at the same moment two men entered, one of whom, without waiting to be announced, sprang up the staircase into Viole's chamber; but not finding him there, he passed into the little room where the father was seated in deep thought by the sleeping child.
"Viole," he said, "how can you sit thus unmoved by that child's bed, when your enemies have already planned your destruction! God may reward you for your boldness in his cause this day, but the consequences of that courage no human power can avert, unless you fly. Your sentence is passed-Death!"
"I am in God's hands," replied Viole, calmly; and he looked with a countenance full of peaceful trust
-the peace of a good conscience--into the face of Du Plessis Mornay.
"How?" said his friend. "You will rest here, and allow your enemies to take you captive? You will wait here for the starvation of the Bastille, or the agonies of the rack?”
"I am not afraid," said Viole.
"No one doubts your courage," replied Plessis Mornay; "but is your life, then, of so little value to your religion and your country, that you coolly resign it without an effort?"
"Your fears are getting the better of your judgment," said Viole. "I do not believe in the danger you apprehend; they will not venture."
shall be pursued, and unless we can gain a decided After a silent embrace, the friends parted, and, in advantage over them, all our trouble will have been a few moments, Mornay had disappeared in the in vain. What direction do you intend to take?" forest. It was the work of a short time to reach the "That of Auvergne," answered Viole; "at St. boat, and row to the opposite side of the river. Flore I can at least find an asylum during my danger." Here servants and horses were in wating for him; "If you go thither," said his noble friend, "you and before any one was astir in the streets of Paris, must not remain there. Go to England; that is the he had arrived at the spot where Viole's house stood. only place that I think is safe for you. Diana of What a scene awaited him there! Every article of Poitiers has her eye not only on you, but upon your furniture destroyed, looking-glasses and windows Ferrier, Du Faure, and Du Bourg are already property, and she will send her emissaries on your broken, even the family pictures of the good man fled," said Mornay. track." battered and ruined, his possessions plundered, and. in short, the whole dwelling presented a picture of wreck and devastation impossible to describe. As he stood sorrowfully considering the scene, he perceived two of Viole's servants, who happened to be from home at the time of their master's flight. They had the courage, notwithstanding grievous illtreatment and the influence of much fear, to declare their attachment to him, and their determination to stand by his property to the last. They now, however, besought, Mornay's protection.
"What do you say?" said Viole springing up, "Fled!"
"Be of good heart," said Plessis. "You shall enter my service, and remain with me until better days come.”
"Not venture!" said Mornay. "The warrant is already made out, and is in the hands of Tavannes. Do you believe that he will delay? In God's name hasten! Every moment is precious. Look at that innocent child-you are his all, father and mother both. He has had one bitter loss; take not from him his only support. Give not your child to the enemy."
Viole was moved.
"They are already beyond the gates of Paris," returned the other; "and you tarry."
"And is it come to this?" said Viole, sorrowfully. "Must France expatriate her truest children? Even so the stars do not lie-I have seen my fate written there. Yes, it is clear to me now that I must flee for my boy's sake. I must and will."
"Then use all possible dispatch, I entreat of you, or it may be too late," said Mornay, urgently. "Haste! haste!"
"I will," he replied "but only with my child; and how is that possible?" "I have foreseen the difficulty," said Mornay, "and provided for it too. Only hasten, hasten, I say; for while we linger you may both be lost."
Viole now arose, his hasty preparations were soon completed, money and some important papers packed up, and with the boy wrapped in a cloak, the fugatives left the house, and stepped forth into the solemn night. It was dark as the grave, and the drowsy child soon slept again in the servant's arms, Plessis Mornay walking a little in advance.
"You may be right," said Viole, after a little consideration, "but the mountains of Auvergne are rich in hiding-places. There is my childhood's home; I have many old friends in the vicinity; and there I have learned, from long experience as a hunter, of lurking-places where spies may come and search in vain; and in case of danger, it will not be difficult to go by La Rochelle to England.”
At length they perceived, by the light of the moon, that the banks of the river were belted by thick forests "Danger is over for the present," said Mornay to Viole, "but still we must flee, for at daybreak we
Through many a narrow street and alley, tbrough passages and open squares, the party quickly passed. At length he heard the splashing of the waters of the Seine, which agitated by the late storm, were breaking upon the banks.
God be praised? whispered Plessis Mornay to Wait here a few moments," said Plessis Mornay Viole; "we are near the boundaries of the city. to the boatman; and beckoning Viole and the two May He be merciful to us, and watch over us!" servants, they entered the forest.
The path seemed to lie in thick darkness, but it was not intricate, and they soon arrived at a more open part. Horses stood there ready for flight.
They traversed yet another narrow street, and then plunged into a dark alley that sloped to the water's edge. Here Plessis Mornay stood still and whistled three times. He was immediately answered in the same manner by some one at no great distance. Grasping Viole's hand, he safely conducted him down the sloping pavement, at the foot of which they perceived a dark form.
"Mornay," said Viole, "a true friend is proved in adversity. You are such an one. Many a time have I thought you undecided and half-hearted in the cause. Forgive me that I did you that injustice!" "Appearances often deceive," he replied, as he "What o'clock is it?" said the unknown. pressed Viole's hand. "I have learned that I can "Nearly midnight," answered his friend. better serve Protestantism by taking no decided part. Without further question the stranger turned back I am often misunderstood and doubted; but in my to the river, and, with the assistance of one or two own breast I cherish a full conviction that my course men, hauled a boat to shore. The fugitives entered is right. We are not all called to the same path; it, and as soon as they were seated, the master only let each be true to his post. You have hitherto sprang in and pushed off So good was the will of misunderstood me. Trust in me henceforth, and to the rowers, and so vigorous their efforts, that in spite the little light which has fallen to my share. Now of the strength of the current, they soon passed I must leave you. May God protect and guide the lighted houses, and Paris lay far behind them. you! To His mercy I commend you and yours!" "Whither are you conducting me?" said Viole. Viole held his hand for a few seconds without "Once for all, leave everything to me," said Mornay, being able to answer, and a tear stood in his eye. who sat at the helm, and there was a deep silence "Noble man!" he replied; I pray that we may for some time. meet once more. That which you have done for me will never be forgotten. But now I have only my thanks to render. God grant that no harm may come to you in consequence of this! you! Adieu!"
Again they relapsed into silence, each pondering on the plan for the future. In the meantime they had reached a place where the forests that bordered the Seine were thicker and more extensive. The moon was just disappearing, and its pale light fell upon the shore. The masses of cloud, which had so long hung over Paris, had cleared away, and the morning was calm and clear. The sharp eyes of the pilot now discerned a man upon the opposite bank of the river, and by a motion of the helm they were soon in the middle of the stream, when he allowed the boat quietly to float down the river until they arrived opposite the spot where they had perceived the figure. The captain whistled in a short peculiar manner; the signal was answered, and in a few moments the boat lay to by the river's bank.
"I had almost given you up," said the stranger, as, holding out his hand, he helped Mornay to land. Is all ready?" he asked
This promise restored their fainting courage, and they were soon able to give a more connected account of the events of the past night. They related it as follows:-A very few minutes after the flight of their master, they had returned home, and to their astonishment and terror, had found the doors open, and the house entirely deserted. No one could say whither their master was fled; but the idea at once struck them that he had been thrown into the Bastille; as during their gossip in the town they had learned of the scenes enacted in the Parliament House that morning, and of the fearful risk that Viole had incurred by speaking so boldly to the King. This fear was not of long duration; in a few
Everything is as you have commanded," replied moments after their entrance, a crowd of persons, with Tavannes at their head, stormed the house, sought for Viole in every room, and cruelly maltreated the servants, because they suspected them to be acquainted with the place of their master's retreat. Enraged at their silence, they threatened the unhappy creatures with torture and imprisonment, until at length Tavannes, convinced that he must have departed without their knowledge, left the house, giving permission to the mob to enter and plunder, or destroy everything that it contained, resolved at once to lose no time in his pursuit of the fugitives. Du Plessis Mornay, although prepared, heard the narrative with horror, and, followed by Viole's household, soon left the spot, with deep feelings of thanksgiving that its noble master had escaped from the barbarous hands of his enemies.
In the meantime, preparations were making by the little party on the banks of the Seine, for a yet further flight. The servant whom Mornay had left with the horses, and to whom he had committed the guidance of Viole, was a trusty, energetic man. Although, indeed, unacquainted with Auvergne, he had travelled much in the district through which they must pass on their way thither, and could pursue his track through forest paths, however intricate, without losing himself. A sumpter horse followed them, bearing provisions necessary for so long a journey; Mornay, with wonderful foresight, having Blessings on provided for every emergency. It was necessary, before proceeding on their route, however to dis
vast crater, but in the course of time the deep hollow lay not far from Pont de Razan. The other branch
To the right of this tower were the dwellings of
At a considerable distance from the towns of Pierrefort, Coulades la Boute, and Longers, in a wide valley filled with lava, and which is now a smooth and level plain, enclosed on all sides by ranges of lofty hills, rose this solitary and extensive peak. Huge stones were scattered here and there in strange confusion on its declivity, as even in the The time of the wars of the middle ages was, in-tunes, had undermined the prosperity and standing distance one could perceive. The foot of the hill deed, long passed away, but the castle still stood of D'Oudraque. It was now tried in the Parliament was clad with fine trees, and the path for some way as a monument of the greatness and power of at Paris, and the cause of Viole promised to be vicup the mountain side rejoiced in their shade. There the race of St. Flore. Two branches only re- torious. He had, in the prospect of a settlement, were four places in the hill, however, only accessi-mained of the old parent stem, one in Auvergne, hastened to the capital to assert his rights in the ble by gates, secured by the strong portcullis of the the other in Dauphiné. The Dauphiné property house. Centuries ago this mountain fort had been a embraced also the valuable castle of Arbèque, which
The fire and energy of his oratory, supported by
guise Viole, in order to elude detection; and for this purpose he cut off his flowing hair and thick beard, and changed clothes with a countryman of the neighborhood.
In the day time, they usually rested in the forest, or in some solitary cottage or barn, and in the night continued their way. As soon as they arrived at the spot where the dark outline of the mountains of Auvergne was visible, Viole became the leader and guide of the little band The anxiety which he had felt in the prospect of so much fatigue for his dear Gui, appeared for the present without foundation. boy revelled in the new life, was charmed with the country, and delighted to be continually near his father, from whom, in Paris, he had been so frequently separated. The journey was accomplished without any accident, and with far less danger than could have been anticipated. That Mornay would care for his faithful servants at Paris, Viole could not doubt, and his heart was light as he saw the well-known peaks of the mountains of his native land, which were now to be his home and hiding-place.
CHAPTER III. THE MOUNTAIN HOME.
UVERGNE is one of those mountainous districts in which, at some remote period, an earthquake must have made fearful ravages, and where the destruction caused by volcanic eruption had been of an extent, and a power and grandeur, the effect of which, even at the present day, fills the beholder with astonishment and horror. Enormous craters mark the spot of each eruption, and one cannot look at the fields of black lava without picturing the time when that lava ran like liquid fire, spreading over the plains, and filling the smiling valleys, destroying all animated beings, consuming vast forests, and spreading terror and devastation around. The deep craters are now filled with water, and where the devouring element raged so long, little seas foam now upon the mountain tops. Stones are scattered around, and cover vast spaces, whilst basalt, in all manner of grotesque forms and colors, sprinkle the sides and summit of these lofty hills. In those situations where the power of the atmosphere has been sufficiently strong, the process of the dissolution of lava has for some centuries past been extraordinary; and even at the period of which these pages treat, the fruitful spots of land were spreading, and the forest year by year thickly clad with verdure, in spots where once desolation had seemed universal and hopeless. One mountain peak, which rises like a pyramid to heaven, aud which may be discerned by its peculiar appearance, for many miles, was the spot to which Viole's steps were hastening.
When the light of the Reformation, first kindled at Geneva, shed its influence over France, an event occurred in connection with the subject of our story, which we will relate.
Viole d'Arbèque and Viole de St. Flore were the only representatives of the family. Neither of them had hitherto shown any decided attachment to religion. Viole d'Arbèque, proud of his family and his ancient descent, forsook the pursuit of true wisdom, and became absorbed in worldly pursuits. To maintain the honor and dignity of the house intact, to follow the king in battle, and to serve him truly and bravely both in war and peace, were the aims of his life.
Claude, his contemporary, was of an opposite constitution, and his tastes led him into a somewhat different line of action. The thirst for knowledge pressed him to pursue it under every difficulty, and the love of astrology, early cultivated by his instructor, was pursued by him with a zeal worthy a better cause. As soon as he arrived at manhood, after a course of study at the Sorbonne, he resolved to go to Geneva, and here, in his restless desire to acquire information, he sought the Holy Scriptures, from which divine source he obtained a degree of content to which he had hitherto been a stranger. D'Arbèque who was given up to different pursuits, was extremely indignant at the new principles of his kinsman, which had the effect of placing between them a barrier nothing could possibly overcome. A deep-rooted feeling of enmity on D'Arbèque's part sprung up, and only seemed to gather strength by time Claude de Viole was himself of a proud and fiery disposition To make advances to D'Arbèque was not in his nature He had, he said, as little need of his neighbors' friendship as his neighbor had of his, and so was content to live apart from him.
Claude de Viole therefore resided alone in his castle of St. Flore, hunted in his wide forests, and pursued his favorite researches in astrology, in which study he had made great proficiency under an old Spaniard, called Acevedo, at Geneva. Indeed he carried his love of this science to such an extent that he was in some danger of forgetting that knowledge which he had so recently acquired, and of wasting his life in the useless pursuit of a visionary research.
A circumstance, however, occurred, which turned the current of his thoughts, and altered the whole course of his being.
His possessions at St. Flore bordered on those of a noble family of Auvergne. For some years a law-suit had been carried on against the owner of this estate to determine the right of hunting in a certain extensive forest between the two castles. Already had the trial lasted a considerable time, and the costs, with a succession of losses and misfor
"Not so," said the old man, "for of the legitimacy of your claim and of your documents there can be no doubt. You are the lawful possessor of the forest. I have myself raised my voice on your behalf. But is it nothing to you that your success
has plunged a gray-haired old man into misery and ruin? The aged D'Oudraque is impoverished through the result of this contest, and the heavy costs which fall upon him to pay. The worthy man is crushed by the blow, and an innocent child shares in his misfortune. The ruin of the house seems complete; for Diana of Poitiers, hearing of her situation, has been urgent that the maiden should enter her service as a lady-in-waiting. You know what that involves; but there seems no alternative. I have to-day seen the tears not only on the old man's cheek, but on those of his fair daughter. Viole was moved.
"I know you," he observed, "for the worthy son of my old friend. I knew that I had but to place the matter before you in its true light and you would yield. Do you know D'Oudraque ?"
"No," said Viole. "You know that this law
"That, too, I expected of you," replied Du Bourg. "Now let me lead you at once to the old man's lodgings."
Viole complied. They went out together, and after a long walk they found him in a remote part of the city, in an humble and insignificant house, where he had taken up his temporary abode. Du Bourg opened the door of a small room, and they entered. The room was poorly furnished.
"You are a noble man," he said. "You were my father's friend, and you know that I value my right more than the actual possession of the forest. Tell the good old man from me, that for the sake of By a lamp two persons were seated-a man of his friendship, I will gladly resign the property, and sixty in a plain dress, and a girl of eighteen years. to-morrow I will hand him over the deed. Tell him Becoming, although of the simplest form and matethis. His tears would burn my heart!" rial, was her clothing; but Viole at once felt that The old senator heartily shook hands with the he had never beheld a being of such beauty and young man. purity. She was sitting sorrowfully, with traces of anxiety and suffering visible on her countenance.
St. Flore.' The old man turned pale, and tears started to the maiden's eyes.
"Du Bourg," he said, "I thought you a friend! Am I mistaken? Would you bring my enemy to triumph over my defeat?"
Du Bourg and Viole felt that they had suit and dispute about the property, has existed been too hasty, and both were somewhat confused. between our families for fifty years past." "Marie," said the old man, "get the gentlemen chairs."
"I know it well," said Du Bourg; "but is it right that such enmity should continue? Truly I think not."
There was an awkward pause. In D'Oudraque's bosom there was an independence and a nobility for
"I am ready," said Viole, "to stretch forth my which Viole was not prepared. He took his hand, hand for reconciliation, if he will accept it."
"Not so," said Viole, tenderly. "God forbid! An unhappy feud has for nearly half a century severed our families; let that feud be at an end. I come to declare to you, sir, that I am willing to resign the forest for the better possession of your friendship."
D'Oudraque looked steadfastly at the young speaker.
"I thank you cordially," he said, "for your intention; I am truly thankful that this hatred between neighbors is at an end; but I am somewhat too proud to accept your offer. Consider it is awarded to you by law; it is your right."
and begged him not to misunderstand his meaning. D'Oudraque returned the pressure. "I will not speak to my neighbor," he said, "of the sin of our past enmity; but will promise never again to allude to the unhappy misunderstanding between our famlies. Let us change the subject."
The interview lasted for some time, and when Du Bourg had recovered his composure, he, with the adroitness of a man of the world, led the conversation to other subjects of interest, in which Marie was able to take a part; and it was with rapture that Viole listened when the maiden spoke. They parted on terms of the utmost amity, and Viole left a very favorable impression on the mind both of father and daughter.
"You bring bad news, Du Bourg," said the old man, mournfully; "but it has already reached me, Who is the young man, your companion?" "The son of an old friend, Claude Viole de without attending to Viole's exclamation; "I must
As soon as they were in the street he seized Du Bourg's hand. God forbid," he said, with an earnestness which made his friend laugh, "that this angel should ever go back to her castle!" "We have effected something to-day," he said,
presence of Royalty at the Parliament House. It He often talked confidentially to Rabaud of his was as a fugitive that he now returned to his noble prospects; for he knew that his faithful steward was castle of St. Flore, and the place in which he to be trusted. He was a native of Dauphiny, had been had passed the happiest and most peaceful hours of in Viole's service from his boyhood, and had served his life could no longer afford him a shelter What him with a devotion and affection which were una change in his lot since last he beheld its walls! alterable. He listened to the narration of the past events with great seriousness, and entirely agreed with Du Plessis Mornay in his opinion that Viole was no longer safe in France, and that he must without delay quit it for England.
make another effort. Old D'Oudraque is a noble fellow, but his particularity is so great that he cannot think of any changes, nor can he bear the least excitement. His independence, too, is equal to his sensitiveness."
Viole sighed. The maiden had made an impression upon him which he could not efface, and in a few days he again sought D'Oudraque.
By degrees Marie learned of his love.
At length he said to Du Bourg, "D'Oudraque has not yet accepted my proposition. Now I can see a way to oblige him to do so."
"How?" said his friend.
His cup was not yet full. The fatigue and exposure to which his child had been subject for so many days and nights, at length told upon the little frame. Gui fell sick. The poor father's heart sank as he saw the last treasure which he held of the shipwreck of his possessions threatened with destruction. Day and night he sat by the child's bed, listening to every breath of the sufferer. In vain were the entreaties of his trusty steward Rabaud to leave him for awhile, and to take the rest he so greatly needed he watched on. Grief and anxiety prayed on his already troubled spirit; but God had pity on his tried and afflicted servant; the hand of disease was stayed, and the fever which had threatened the young life abated. When the child began to recog-life. nise those around him, it became a matter of anxiety Viole knew he would be safe with Rabaud, but as to the effect which the father's speedy departure then came the parting. A letter, however, which the
CHAPTER IV. THE DISGUISED LORD.
wandering through France, and on her way to rejoin her tribe, and was in the handwriting of Plessis Mornay.
FIVE years of unclouded bliss passed over the would have on the little invalid; for Viole could not steward one morning put into his hand, decided the young couple's heads, partly at St. Flore and cherish the hope of long remaining at his castle. It question; it was brought by a gipsy who was partly at Paris, whither Viole's duties as Member of Parliament called him. His beloved wife, who made his home a paradise, died at the expiration of that time, after giving birth to a son. The father soon followed his beloved daughter, and Viole stood alone in the world--alone with his motherlesss boy. He buried his grief within the walls of St. Flore, and only the treaties of his friends, and a sense of duty to his country, were able to draw him from his beloved retirement; for the hand of death had marred
"Thus; he shall give me Marie for my wife, in return for the forest land, and thus make me the happiest of men."
The matter was concluded. Marie returned his love; it was a proud day when Viole made her his wife; and the old man accompanied his young son and daughter to the Castle of St. Flore.
his fairest pictures,.
was indeed astonishing that the vengeance of his
But the father's love restrained him. How could he leave his child? And yet, to expose that frail being to the vicissitudes and danger of another flight, above all to the trials of the sea, seemed madness. Rabaud used every argument in his power to induce Viole to yield. He represented to him that he might safely leave Gui in his hands; that he would carry him to his old home in Dauphiny, where the child might pass for his own; and that, in remaining, he ran the risk, not only of his own, but of the boy's
"You are not safe another moment at St. Flore," he wrote. "Preparations are making to capture you, and to take you to the Bastile. You know Tivannes. There are no bounds to his cruelty and vengeance. He has a double scheme; first, to plunge a dagger in your heart, and then take possession of your boy, whom he will bring up in the Catholic faith. Your property is promised to Diana of Poitiers. You know that woman. She will not scruple to take possession of St. Flore. Fly therefore at once. God grant that this letter be not too late. Avoid as much as possible all towns and villages in your flight. Spies are everywhere dogging your foot
steps. God protect you!"-The letter bore no sig-