It is strange that the arrangements in the city, which must have been
attended with no little commotion, did not rouse the suspicion of the
Huguenots. Probably, in their blind confidence, they trusted implicitly
in the King's word that these movements of arms and artillery, these
postings of guards and midnight musters, were intended to keep the
Guisian faction in order. There is a story that some gentlemen, aroused
by the measured tread of the soldiers and the glare of torches--for no
lamps then lit up the streets of Paris--went outdoors and asked what it
meant. Receiving an unsatisfactory reply, they proceeded to the Louvre,
where they found the outer court filled with armed men, who, seeing them
without the white cross and the scarf, abused them as "accursed
Huguenots," whose turn would come next. One of them who replied to this
insolent threat, was immediately run through with a spear. This, if the
incident be true, occurred about one o'clock on Sunday morning, August
24th, the festival of St. Bartholomew.
Shortly after midnight the Queen-mother rose and went to the King's
chamber, attended only by one lady, the Duchess of Nemours, whose thirst
for revenge was to be satisfied at last. She found Charles pacing the
room in one of those fits of passion which he at times assumed to
conceal his infirmity of purpose.
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