QUEEN MARGOT (Historical Novel). Alexandre Dumas

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СКАЧАТЬ du Chaume — that is it! Ah, he lives there! Good! Each of us will settle accounts with our man.”

      And, while the people from the Hôtel de Guise were breaking in the doors of De Mouy’s house, and Maurevel, with a torch in his hand, was trying to set it on fire — while now that the doors were once broken, there was a fearful struggle with a single antagonist who at each rapier-thrust brought down his foe — Coconnas tried, by the help of a paving-stone, to break in Mercandon’s door, and the latter, unmoved by this solitary effort, was doing his best with his arquebuse out of his window.

      And now all this dark and deserted quarter was lighted up, as if by open day — peopled like the interior of an ant-hive; for from the Hôtel de Montmorency six or eight Huguenot gentlemen, with their servants and friends, had just made a furious charge, and, supported by the firing from the windows, were beginning to repulse Maurevel’s and the De Guises’ force, who at length were driven back to the place whence they had come.

      Coconnas, who had not yet succeeded in smashing Mercandon’s door, though he was working at it with all his might, was caught in this sudden retreat. Placing his back to the wall, and grasping his sword firmly, he began not only to defend himself, but to attack his assailants, with cries so terrible that they were heard above all the uproar. He struck right and left, hitting friends and enemies, until a wide space was cleared around him. As his rapier made a hole in some breast, and the warm blood spurted over his hands and face, he, with dilated eye, expanded nostrils, and clinched teeth, regained the ground lost, and again approached the beleaguered house.

      De Mouy, after a terrible combat in the staircase and hall, had finally come out of the burning house like a true hero. In the midst of all the struggle he had not ceased to cry, “Here, Maurevel! — Maurevel, where are you?” insulting him by the most opprobrious epithets.

      He at length appeared in the street, supporting on one arm his mistress, half naked and nearly fainting, and holding a poniard between his teeth. His sword, flaming by the sweeping action he gave it, traced circles of white or red, according as the moon glittered on the blade or a flambeau glared on its blood-stained brightness.

      Maurevel had fled. La Hurière, driven back by De Mouy as far as Coconnas, who did not recognize him, and received him at sword’s point, was begging for mercy on both sides. At this moment Mercandon perceived him, and knew him, by his white scarf, to be one of the murderers. He fired. La Hurière shrieked, threw up his arms, dropped his arquebuse, and, after having vainly attempted to reach the wall, in order to support himself, fell with his face flat on the earth.

      De Mouy took advantage of this circumstance, turned down the Rue de Paradis, and disappeared.

      Such had been the resistance of the Huguenots that the De Guise party, quite repulsed, had retired into their hôtel, fearing to be besieged and taken in their own habitation.

      Coconnas who, intoxicated with blood and tumult, had reached that degree of excitement when, with the men of the south more especially, courage changes into madness, had not seen or heard anything, and noticed only that there was not such a roar in his ears, and that his hands and face were a little dryer than they had been. Dropping the point of his sword, he saw near him a man lying face downward in a red stream, and around him burning houses.

      It was a very short truce, for just as he was approaching this man, whom he recognized as La Hurière, the door of the house he had in vain tried to burst in, opened, and old Mercandon, followed by his son and two nephews, rushed upon him.

      “Here he is! here he is!” cried they all, with one voice.

      Coconnas was in the middle of the street, and fearing to be surrounded by these four men who assailed him at once, sprang backward with the agility of one of the chamois which he had so often hunted in his native mountains, and in an instant found himself with his back against the wall of the Hôtel de Guise. Once at ease as to not being surprised from behind he put himself in a posture of defence, and said, jestingly:

      “Aha, father Mercandon, don’t you know me?”

      “Wretch!” cried the old Huguenot, “I know you well; you are engaged against me — me, your father’s friend and companion.”

      “And his creditor, are you not?”

      “Yes; his creditor, as you say.”

      “Well, then,” said Coconnas, “I have come to settle our accounts.”

      “Seize him, bind him!” said Mercandon to the young men who accompanied him, and who at his bidding rushed toward the Piedmontese.

      “One moment! one moment!” said Coconnas, laughing, “to seize a man you must have a writ, and you have forgotten to secure one from the provost.”

      And with these words he crossed his sword with the young man nearest to him and at the first blow cut his wrist.

      The wounded man retreated with a howl.

      “That will do for one!” said Coconnas.

      At the same moment the window under which Coconnas had sought shelter opened noisily. He sprang to one side, fearing an attack from behind; but instead of an enemy he saw a woman; instead of the enemy’s weapon he was prepared to encounter, a nosegay fell at his feet.

      “Ah!” he said, “a woman!”

      He saluted the lady with his sword, and stooped to pick up the bouquet.

      “Be on your guard, brave Catholic! — be on your guard!” cried the lady.

      Coconnas rose, but not before the second nephew’s dagger had pierced his cloak, and wounded his other shoulder.

      The lady uttered a piercing shriek.

      Coconnas thanked her, assured her by a gesture, and then made a pass, which the nephew parried; but at the second thrust, his foot slipped in the blood, and Coconnas, springing at him like a tiger-cat, drove his sword through his breast.

      “Good! good! brave cavalier!” exclaimed the lady of the Hôtel de Guise, “good! I will send you succor.”

      “Do not give yourself any trouble about that, madame,” was Coconnas’s reply; “rather look on to the end, if it interests you, and see how the Comte Annibal de Coconnas settles the Huguenots.”

      At this moment old Mercandon’s son aimed a pistol at close range to Coconnas, and fired. The count fell on his knee. The lady at the window shrieked again; but Coconnas rose instantly; he had knelt only to avoid the bullet, which struck the wall about two feet beneath where the lady was standing.

      Almost at the same moment a cry of rage issued from the window of Mercandon’s house, and an old woman, who recognized Coconnas as a Catholic, from his white scarf and cross, hurled a flower-pot at him, which struck him above the knee.

      “Capital!” said Coconnas; “one throws flowers at me and at the other, flower-pots; if this goes on, they’ll be tearing houses down!”

      “Thanks, mother, thanks!” said the young man.

      “Go on, wife, go on,” said old Mercandon; “but take care of yourself.”

      “Wait, Monsieur de Coconnas, wait!” said the young woman of the Hôtel de Guise, “I will have them shoot at the windows!”

      “Ah! СКАЧАТЬ