Of all the princes who had stood between him and the throne, there was none remaining save the helpless, childless, superannuated youth, who was its present occupant.

The King of Navarre was legitimate heir to the crown of France.

"Espoir" was now in letters of light upon his shield, but he knew that his path to greatness led through manifold dangers, and that it was only at the head of his Huguenot chivalry that he could cut his way.

He was the leader of the nobles of Gascony, and Dauphins, and Guienne, in their mountain fastnesses, of the weavers, cutlers, and artizans, in their thriving manufacturing and trading towns.

It was not Spanish gold, but carbines and cutlasses, bows and bills, which could bring him to the throne of his ancestors.
And thus he stood the chieftain of that great austere party of Huguenots, the men who went on, their knees before the battle, beating their breasts with their iron gauntlets, and singing in full chorus a psalm of David, before smiting the Philistines hip and thigh.
Their chieftain, scarcely their representative--fit to lead his Puritans on the battle-field, was hardly a model for them elsewhere.