The House of the Wolf

THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF
A Romance
by STANLEY WEYMAN

CONTENTS.
I.--WARE WOLF!
II.--THE VIDAME'S THREAT.
III.--THE ROAD TO PARIS.
IV.--ENTRAPPED!
V.--A PRIEST AND A WOMAN.
VI.--MADAME'S FRIGHT.
VII.--A YOUNG KNIGHT ERRANT.
VIII.--THE PARISIAN MATINS.
IX.--THE HEAD OF ERASMUS.
X.--HAU, HAU, HUGUENOTS!
XI.--A NIGHT OF SORROW.
XII.--JOY IN THE MORNING.

INTRODUCTION.
The following is a modern English version of a curious French memoir,
or fragment of autobiography, apparently written about the year 1620
by Anne, Vicomte de Caylus, and brought to this country--if, in fact,
the original ever existed in England--by one of his descendants after the
Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. This Anne, we learn from other
sources, was a principal figure at the Court of Henry IV., and, therefore,
in August, 1572, when the adventures here related took place, he and
his two younger brothers, Marie and Croisette, who shared with him
the honour and the danger, must have been little more than boys. From
the tone of his narrative, it appears that, in reviving old recollections,
the veteran renewed his youth also, and though his story throws no
fresh light upon the history of the time, it seems to possess some human
interest.

THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF.
CHAPTER I.
WARE WOLF!
I had afterwards such good reason to look back upon and remember the
events of that afternoon, that Catherine's voice seems to ring in my
brain even now. I can shut my eyes and see again, after all these years,
what I saw then--just the blue summer sky, and one grey angle of the
keep, from which a fleecy cloud was trailing like the smoke from a
chimney. I could see no more because I was lying on my back, my head
resting on my hands. Marie and Croisette, my brothers, were lying by
me in exactly the same posture, and a few yards away on the terrace,
Catherine was sitting on a stool Gil had brought out for her. It was the
second Thursday in August, and hot. Even the jackdaws were silent. I
had almost fallen asleep, watching my cloud grow longer and longer,
and thinner and thinner, when Croisette, who cared for heat no more
than a lizard, spoke up sharply, "Mademoiselle," he said, "why are you
watching the Cahors road?"

I had not noticed that she was doing so. But something in the keenness
of Croisette's tone, taken perhaps with the fact that Catherine did not at
once answer him, aroused me; and I turned to her. And lo! she was
blushing in the most heavenly way, and her eyes were full of tears, and
she looked at us adorably. And we all three sat up on our elbows, like
three puppy dogs, and looked at her. And there was a long silence. And
then she said quite simply to us, "Boys, I am going to be married to M.
de Pavannes."
I fell flat on my back and spread out my arms. "Oh, Mademoiselle!" I
cried reproachfully.
"Oh, Mademoiselle!" cried Marie. And he fell flat on his back, and
spread out his arms and moaned. He was a good brother, was Marie,
and obedient.
And Croisette cried, "Oh, mademoiselle!" too. But he was always
ridiculous in his ways. He fell flat on his back,and flopped his arms and
squealed like a pig.
Yet he was sharp. It was he who first remembered our duty, and went
to Catherine, cap in hand, where she sat half angry and half confused,
and said with a fine redness in his cheeks, "Mademoiselle de Caylus,
our cousin, we give you joy, and wish you long life; and are your
servants, and the good friends and aiders of M. de Pavannes in all
quarrels, as--"
But I could not stand that. "Not so fast, St. Croix de Caylus" I said,
pushing him aside--he was ever getting before me in those days--and
taking his place. Then with my best bow I began, "Mademoiselle, we
give you joy and long life, and are your servants and the good friends
and aiders of M. de Pavannes in all quarrels, as--as--"
"As becomes the cadets of your house," suggested Croisette, softly.
"As becomes the cadets of your house," I repeated. And then Catherine
stood up and made me a low bow and we all kissed her hand in turn,
beginning with me and ending with Croisette, as was becoming.

Afterwards Catherine threw her handkerchief over her face--she was
crying--and we three sat down, Turkish fashion, just where we were,
and said "Oh, Kit!" very softly.
But presently Croisette had something to add. "What will the Wolf
say?" he whispered to me.
"Ah! To be sure!" I exclaimed aloud. I had been thinking of myself
before; but this opened quite another window. "What will the Vidame
say, Kit?"
She dropped