The elderly Huguenot had stood silent after his repulse¹ by the king, with his eyes cast moodily² downwards³, and a face in which doubt, sorrow, and anger contended for the mastery. He was a very large, gaunt man, raw-boned and haggard, with a wide forehead, a large, fleshy nose, and a powerful chin. He wore neither wig⁴ nor powder, but Nature had put her own silvering upon his thick grizzled locks, and the thousand puckers⁵ which clustered round the edges of his eyes, or drew at the corners of his mouth, gave a set gravity to his face which needed no device of the barber to increase it. Yet in spite of his mature years, the swift anger with which he had sprung up when the king refused his plaint, and the keen fiery⁶ glance which he had shot at the royal court as they filed past him with many a scornful smile and whispered gibe⁷ at his expense, all showed that he had still preserved something of the strength and of the spirit of his youth. He was dressed as became his rank, plainly and yet well, in a sad-coloured brown kersey coat with silver-plated buttons, knee-breeches of the same, and white woollen stockings, ending in broad-toed black leather shoes cut across with a great steel buckle⁹. In one hand he carried his low felt hat, trimmed with gold edging, and in the other a little cylinder¹⁰ of paper containing a recital¹¹ of his wrongs, which he had hoped to leave in the hands of the king’s secretary.

His doubts as to what his next step should be were soon resolved for him in a very summary fashion. These were days when, if the Huguenot was not absolutely forbidden in France, he was at least looked upon as a man who existed upon sufferance, and who was unshielded by the laws which protected his Catholic fellow-subjects. For twenty years the

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