Gentlemen, welcome! Welcome all who are for the true faith! Death to the heretics! 'Kill, and no quarter!' is the word to-night!" "Death to the heretics!" the last comers cried in chorus.

"Kill and no quarter! At what hour, M.le Prevot ?" "At daybreak," the Provost answered importantly.

"But have no fear, the tocsin will sound.

The King and our good man M.de Guise have all in hand.

A white sleeve, a white cross, and a sharp knife shall rid Paris of the vermin! Gentlemen of the quarter, the word of the night is 'Kill, and no quarter! Death to the Huguenots!'" "Death! Death to the Huguenots! Kill, and no quarter!" A dozen--the room was beginning to fill--waved their weapons and echoed the cry.
Tignonville had been fortunate enough to apprehend the position--and the peril in which he stood--before Maillard advanced to him bearing a white linen sleeve.