The Duke's face was full of gaiety; there was not a shadow of anxiety upon it in that perilous and eventful moment.

He saw that the day was his own.
For now, the people, ripe, ready; mustered, armed, barricaded; awaited but a signal to assault the King's mercenaries, before rushing to the palace: On every house-top missiles were provided to hurl upon their heads.

There seemed no escape for Henry or his Germans from impending doom, when Guise, thoroughly triumphant, vouchsafed them their lives.
"You must give me these soldiers as a present, my friends," said he to the populace.
And so the armed Swiss, French, and German troopers and infantry, submitted to be led out of Paris, following with docility the aide-de-camp of Guise, Captain St.Paul, who walked quietly before them, with his sword in its scabbard, and directing their movements with a cane.

Sixty of them were slain by the mob, who could not, even at the command of their beloved chieftain, quite forego their expected banquet.
But this was all the blood shed on the memorable day of Barricades, when another Bartholomew massacre had been, expected.
Meantime; while Guise was making his promenade through the city, exchanging embraces with the rabble; and listening to the coarse congratulations and obscene jests of the porters and fishwomen, the poor King sat crying all day long in the Louvre.

The Queen-Mother was with him, reproaching him bitterly with his irresolution and want of confidences in her, and scolding him for his tears.