to be praised, steadily refused to profit by
Gast's suggestion.

"I have passed my word to wait here till
the ransom is paid," said that brave and
admirable gentleman; "and I will not save
my life by breaking my promise. Here I will
stop till the money comes; and I will leave it
to God in his wisdom to dispose of me and of
my children, as He sees good."

Hearing these words, the servants hesitated
about taking to flight by themselves, not
knowing where to go, and not having any
means of procuring horses. They waited,
therefore, in the house, with the purpose of
concealing themselves in the upper rooms at
the first approach of danger.

The rest of the day passed, and the night
followed, and nothing happened. Neither
Captain Martin nor any of his men came
near the house. On the next day, when the
ransom was due, there arrived, instead of the
Captain who was to receive it, a certain Papist
nobleman, named the Count de Coconas,
followed by a guard of forty soldiers. The Count
informed M. de la Force that the King's
brother had heard of their being taken
prisoners, and that he desired to speak with them
immediately, While he was giving this
message, he allowed his men to tear off the outer
clothing of M. de la Force and his sons.
Finding themselves used in this way, they
suspected that the pretended message was a
falsehood, and prepared themselves for the
worst. M. de la Force appealed, as a last
resource, to the Count's sense of justice, pleading
that his life, and the life of his sons, had
been spared on condition of paying a ransom,
and that the money was to be sent that very
day. His youngest son, who had shown
marvellous courage and coolness in the midst of
deadly danger, joined M. de la Force in trying
to touch the Count's heart by his innocent
entreaties. They spoke long; the boy, when
he found his father getting agitated, trying to
console and quiet him. When they had said
all that it was possible to say, the only
answer the Count condescended to give them,
was this:—

"I was told there were two servants with
you; and I see neither of them. Where are
they?"

On the first approach of the soldiers, the
Page had wisely flown to the protection of
the two Swiss guards. Gast, unfortunately
for himself, had rushed up-stairs to one of
the garrets, and had there endeavoured to
lie hid. He was searched for by the Count's
order, was found, and was brought down-stairs,
to take his place with his fellow prisoners.
The Page could not be discovered anywhere.

"Only four!" said the Count, running
them over with his eye. "Never mind. March
them out."

They left the house, with their guards all
round them, and were led into a lonely bye-
street in the neighbourhood. There the
soldiers halted, drew their swords, called
out all together, "Kill! kill!" and attacked
their defenceless prisoners.

The eldest boy was the first slain; and his
father was the next victim. The youngest
son (the same who had shown such courage
in pleading for his life), had the presence
of mind to drop to the ground with them,
and to lie there as still as if he too had
been killed by the same sword-thrusts which
had despatched his father and his brother.
Gast, the servant, was murdered last. All
the clothing of the bodies was torn off them.
The living boy lay naked in the blood of
his nearest and dearest relations — to all
outward appearance death-stained by his
wounds, like the rest.

As the Count and his men withdrew,
believing that they had successfully
accomplished the butchery of their four prisoners,
certain poor Papists living in the street,
stole out from their houses to look at the
dead bodies. One among them, a Marker
at a Tennis Court, staid longer than the
rest on the scene of slaughter; and said to
himself sorrowfully, looking at the younger
son as he lay on the ground:

"Sad, sad! here is the body of a mere
child!"

The boy, whose name was Jacques, hearing
these compassionate words, ventured to
raise his head, and said, piteously:

"I am not dead. For mercy's sake, save
my life!"

The Marker instantly pressed him back to
the ground again, and whispered:

"Hush! Don't move yet, my little man.
The soldiers are still in the neighbourhood."

Having spoken those words of warning, he
withdrew a few paces, and walked backwards
and forwards for a little while, watching, on
the other side of the street. In a few minutes
he came back, and saying: "They are gone,
now—you may get up, my boy," put his
ragged old cloak over the naked body of
Jacques, and led him away by the hand.
They had not walked many paces, before
some people met them, and asked who that
strangely-dressed boy was.

"My nephew," answered the Marker.
"The little rascal has been getting drunk,
and I am taking him home to give him a good
whipping."

The worthy man's home was a garret in a
ruinous old house. Arrived there, he gave
Jacques some water to wash himself, and
some ragged clothing belonging to the nephew,
whom the boy now personated. He was so
poor that he had nothing to eat or drink; and
seeing that Jacques had a little ring still left
on his finger, he asked leave to go out and
pawn it, to get some food. They supped, and
breakfasted, the next morning, on the money
obtained by the ring; and, then the Marker
asked Jacques what he proposed to do next,
and where he wanted to go.

The boy answered by begging to be taken
to the Palace, where he had a sister who