Paris: The Novel

out a handful of white objects to his cousin. Simon watched curiously as his father inspected them. They were white armbands. “Put them on. All of you. Keep them on. Don’t take them off even when you are sleeping. At dawn, you will hear bells. Stay indoors. Do not go outside. Whatever else you may hear, besides the bells, do not open the door. But if for some reason, Pierre, you should haveto step outside, then be sure to wear a white armband. On no account be in the street without it.”
    “What is this about?” demanded Pierre.
    “Do not ask. And do not speak of this to anyone else. I should not be here, but you are my family.”
    “Should we be afraid?”
    “No. Just thank the Lord that, in His grace, He has made you a member of the true Church. But stay indoors all the same. And speak to nobody.”
    Simon watched his father’s face. Pierre was looking very grave, and thoughtful.
    “This is terrible,” he said to Guy.
    “I know.”
    “Will people come to the door and ask to see the armbands?”
    “They might. But it’s unlikely.” He gave his cousin a grim look. “We already know where all the Protestants live.”
    “We? You are part of this?”
    “I didn’t say I liked it.” He turned. “Do as I’ve told you, Cousin,” he said, and was gone.

    The night was silent. The family slept in two rooms. Simon’s room was tiny, but it had a small, square window that looked out into the alley.
    He slept soundly for several hours, even as a single bell began to toll, somewhere near the Louvre. Soon other bells were following, but still he slept.
    Suddenly, he sat up in bed. He did not know it was a terrible scream that had awoken him. He listened. Then he got up and went to the window. It must be early morning, but without opening the shutter, it was hard to tell what time it might be. He hesitated. He heard a party of horses going by in the street at the end of the alley, but they didn’t turn into the alley itself. He went to the door of his room. A sound from the back of the house told him that his mother was in the kitchen downstairs. He went back to the shutters and pushed them open, just a little.
    The alley was deserted. Usually, first thing in the morning, the yard gate to the wooden storehouse just up the alley was opened by an apprentice. But today was Sunday, and it was still closed. There was something, though. A sack, by the look of it, lying in the road. He couldn’t see it clearly enough to be sure what it was.
    Then he heard another sound, nearby. A scuffling sound. It was almost under his window. A dog or a cat, perhaps. He pulled himself up, got his stomach on the window ledge and leaned out.
    It was a dark-haired little girl. About five years old, by the look of her. She was wearing just a nightdress. Her small round face was looking straight up at him. Her eyes were wide with terror. She was trembling, white as a ghost. He gazed at her.
    “What are you doing?”
    She didn’t answer. She was staring at him with fear.
    “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
    She continued to stare at him.
    “Why are you all by yourself?” he asked.
    She still didn’t answer.
    “I’m Simon,” he said.
    “That’s my mother,” she whispered. She pointed up the alley. And Simon realized that she was pointing at the shape he’d thought was a sack.
    “Where’s your father?” he said.
    She didn’t reply, but she shook her head in a way that was so final that he supposed it could mean only one thing.
    “Wait,” he said.
    He crept down the wooden stairs. At the bottom, he paused. He heard his mother shoveling ash out of the grate in the kitchen. She’d be taking the ash out into the little yard at the back. His father usually went into his small store, off the yard, first thing in the morning.
    He knew he should go and ask his parents what to do. He knew that, on no account, should he open the door or go outside. So he did exactly what most children in his place would do.
    Very carefully, he slid back the bolts of the street door. He looked outside. The little girl hadn’t moved. The alley was empty. He stepped out and took her hand.
    “Shh,” he whispered, “Don’t say a word.”
    They stepped inside. He closed the door carefully and bolted it again. He could still hear his mother in the kitchen. Softly he led the little girl to the stairs and they crept up together. He put her in his bed. She was shivering, so he covered her with a blanket. Then he sat down beside