She caught the savage note in the voice of the mob--that note which means danger--and, her heart beating wildly, she looked to her husband.

Then, fortunately for her, fortunately for Angers, it was given to all to see that in Count Hannibal's saddle sat a man.
He raised his hand for silence, and in a minute or two--not at once, for the square was dusky--it was obtained.

He rose in his stirrups, and bared his head.
"I am from the King!" he cried, throwing his voice to all parts of the crowd.

"And this is his Majesty's pleasure and good will! That every man hold his hand until to-morrow on pain of death, or worse! And at noon his further pleasure will be known! Vive le Roi!" And he covered his head again.
"Vive le Roi!" cried a number of the foremost.

But their shouts were feeble and half-hearted, and were quickly drowned in a rising murmur of discontent and ill-humour, which, mingled with cries of "Is that all?
Is there no more?
Down with the Huguenots!" rose from all parts.