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Hearing the words, a man rose to his feet and answered, "Ready to serve!" the password of the Reformers who belonged to Calvin. This man was Chaudieu, to whom Tourillon now related the events of the last eight days, during which time he had prudently left the minister alone in his hiding-place with a twelve-pound loaf of bread for his sole nourishment.
At that instant some one rapped cautiously on Tourillon's outer door, and the glover went downstairs to open it himself. The night was dark. In these troublous times the masters of all households took minute precautions. Tourillon looked through the peep-holes cut in the door, and saw a stranger, whose accent indicated an Italian.
This personage was no other than the famous Ruggiero, astrologer to the queen-mother. Tourillon went below to his own apartment, feeling convinced that he was one too many in that of his guest. "Where can we talk without danger of being overheard?" said the cautious Florentine. "We ought to be in the open fields for that," replied Lecamus.
Tourillon, uneasy about him, went up to his room and found him in tears; the aged eyes showed the inflamed red lining of their lids, so that the glover fancied for a moment that he was weeping tears of blood.
"He will not give out till you reach Orleans," replied La Renaudie. "Leave him at the entrance of the faubourg Bannier; for the gates are well guarded, and you must not excite suspicion. It is for you, friend, to play your part intelligently. You must invent whatever fable seems to you best to reach the third house to the left on entering Orleans; it belongs to a certain Tourillon, glove-maker.
The newcomer was irreproachable in his appearance, with his clothes built in the latest fashion, snowy linen, pale gray gloves, silver-headed cane, and a single eyeglass, dangling from a silken cord. He bowed to Zilch, and, going up to the secretary, he said, rapidly: "Well! since Tourillon is away, I will report the Enghien races. I am going there now. Enghien isn't highly diverting, though.
The man, who was dressed in black, asked to speak with Lecamus on matters of business, and Tourillon admitted him. When the furrier caught sight of his visitor he shuddered violently; but the stranger managed, unseen by Tourillon, to lay his fingers on his lips. Lecamus, understanding the gesture, said immediately: "You have come, I suppose, to offer furs?" "Si," said the Italian, discreetly.
The newcomer was irreproachable in his appearance, with his clothes built in the latest fashion, snowy linen, pale gray gloves, silver-headed cane, and a single eyeglass, dangling from a silken cord. He bowed to Zilch, and, going up to the secretary, he said, rapidly: "Well! since Tourillon is away, I will report the Enghien races. I am going there now. Enghien isn't highly diverting, though.
The newcomer was irreproachable in his appearance, with his clothes built in the latest fashion, snowy linen, pale gray gloves, silver-headed cane, and a single eyeglass, dangling from a silken cord. He bowed to Zilch, and, going up to the secretary, he said, rapidly: "Well! since Tourillon is away, I will report the Enghien races. I am going there now. Enghien isn't highly diverting, though.
No sooner did the tolling of the bells announce to the town of Orleans that Francois II. was dead, and the rumor spread that the Connetable de Montmorency had ordered the flinging open of the gates of the town, than Tourillon, the glover, rushed up into the garret of his house and went to a secret hiding-place. "Good heavens! can he be dead?" he cried.
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