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Weyman, Stanley John, 1855-1928

"Count Hannibal A Romance of the Court of France"

Two silver lamps which hung
from the beams of the unceiled roof shed light on a medley of arms and
inlaid armour, of parchments, books and steel caskets, which encumbered
not the tables only, but the stools and chests that, after the fashion of
that day, stood formally along the arras. In the midst of the disorder,
on the bare floor, walked the man who, more than any other, had been
instrumental in drawing the Huguenots to Paris--and to their doom. It
was no marvel that the events of the day, the surprise and horror, still
rode his mind; nor wonderful that even he, who passed for a model of
stiffness and reticence, betrayed for once the indignation which filled
his breast. Until the officer had withdrawn and closed the door he did,
indeed, keep silence; standing beside the table and eyeing his visitor
with a lofty porte and a stern glance. But the moment he was assured
that they were alone he spoke.
"Your Highness may unmask now," he said, making no effort to hide his
contempt. "Yet were you well advised to take the precaution, since you
had hardly come at me in safety without it. Had those who keep the gate
seen you, I would not have answered for your Highness's life. The more
shame," he continued vehemently, "on the deeds of this day which have
compelled the brother of a king of France to hide his face in his own
capital and in his own fortress.


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