Count Hannibal

The young man had caught the delirium that was abroad that night. The

rage of the trapped beast was in his heart, his hand held a sword. To

strike blindly, to strike without question the first who withstood him

was the wild-beast instinct; and if Count Hannibal had not spoken on the

instant, the Marshal's brother had said his last word in the world.

Yet as he stood there, a head above the crowd, he seemed unconscious

alike of Tignonville and the point that all but pricked his breast. Swart

and grim-visaged, his harsh features distorted by the glare which shone

upon him, he looked beyond the Huguenot to the sea of tossing arms and

raging faces that surged about the saddles of the horsemen. It was to

these he spoke.

"Begone, dogs!" he cried, in a voice that startled the nearest, "or I

will whip you away with my stirrup-leathers! Do you hear? Begone! This

house is not for you! Burn, kill, plunder where you will, but go hence!"

"But 'tis on the list!" one of the wretches yelled. "'Tis on the list!"

And he pushed forward until he stood at Tignonville's elbow.

"And has no cross!" shrieked another, thrusting himself forward in his

turn. "See you, let us by, whoever you are! In the King's name, kill!

It has no cross!"

"Then," Tavannes thundered, "will I nail you for a cross to the front of

it! No cross, say you? I will make one of you, foul crow!"

And as he spoke, his arm shot out; the man recoiled, his fellow likewise.

But one of the mounted archers took up the matter.

"Nay, but, my lord," he said--he knew Tavannes--"it is the King's will

there be no favour shown to-night to any, small or great. And this house

is registered, and is full of heretics."

"And has no cross!" the rabble urged in chorus. And they leapt up and

down in their impatience, and to see the better. "And has no cross!"

they persisted. They could understand that. Of what use crosses, if

they were not to kill where there was no cross? Daylight was not

plainer. Tavannes' face grew dark, and he shook his finger at the archer

who had spoken.

"Rogue," he cried, "does the King's will run here only? Are there no

other houses to sack or men to kill, that you must beard me? And favour?

You will have little of mine, if you do not budge and take your vile tail

with you! Off! Or must I cry 'Tavannes!' and bid my people sweep you

from the streets?"

The foremost rank hesitated, awed by his manner and his name; while the

rearmost, attracted by the prospect of easier pillage, had gone off

already. The rest wavered; and another and another broke away. The

archer who had put himself forward saw which way the wind was blowing,

and he shrugged his shoulders.