The Refugees by Arthur Conan Doyle Read Free Book Online

Louis, as he walked back from the chapel, to receive petitions or to listen to any tales of wrong which his subjects might bring to him. His way, as he returned to his rooms, lay partly across an open space, and here it was that the suppliants were wont to assemble. On this particular morning there were but two or three - a Parisian, who conceived himself injured by the provost of his guild, a peasant whose cow had been torn by a huntsman's dog, and a farmer who had had hard usage from his feudal lord. A few questions and then a hurried order to his secretary disposed of each case, for if Louis was a tyrant himself, he had at least the merit that he insisted upon being the only one within his kingdom. He was about to resume his way again, when an elderly man, clad in the garb of a respectable citizen, and with a strong deep-lined face which marked him as a man of character, darted forward, and threw himself down upon one knee in front of the monarch.
    "Justice, sire, justice!" he cried.
    "What is this, then?" asked Louis. "Who are you, and what is it that you want?"
    "I am a citizen of Paris, and I have been cruelly wronged."
    "You seem a very worthy person. If you have indeed been wronged you shall have redress. What have you to complain of?"
    "Twenty of the Blue Dragoons of Languedoc are quartered in my house, with Captain Dalbert at their head. They have devoured my food, stolen my property, and beaten my servants, yet the magistrates will give me no redress.'
    "On my life, justice seems to be administered in a strange fashion in our city of Paris!" exclaimed the king wrathfully.
    "It is indeed a shameful case," said Bossuet.
    "And yet there may be a very good reason for it," suggested Pere la Chaise. "I would suggest that your Majesty should ask this man his name, his business, and why it was that the dragoons were quartered upon him."
    "You hear the reverend father's question."
    "My name, sire, is Catinat, by trade I am a merchant in cloth, and I am treated in this fashion because I am of the Reformed Church."
    "I thought as much!" cried the confessor.
    "That alters matters," said Bossuet.
    The king shook his head and his brow darkened. "You have only yourself to thank, then. The remedy is in your hands."
    "And how, sire?"
    "By embracing the only true faith."
    "I am already a member of it, sire."
    The king stamped his foot angrily. "I can see that you are a very insolent heretic," said he. "There is but one Church in France, and that is my Church. If you are outside that, you cannot look to me for aid."
    "My creed is that of my father, sire, and of my grandfather."
    "If they have sinned it is no reason why you should. My own grandfather erred also before his eyes were opened."
    "But he nobly atoned for his error," murmured the Jesuit.
    "Then you will not help me, sire?"
    "You must first help yourself."
    The old Huguenot stood up with a gesture of despair, while the king continued on his way, the two ecclesiastics, on either side of him, murmuring their approval into his ears.
    "You have done nobly, sire."
    "You are truly the first son of the Church."
    "You are the worthy successor of St. Louis."
    But the king bore the face of a man who was not absolutely satisfied with his own action.
    "You do not think, then, that these people have too hard a measure?" said he.
    "Too hard? Nay, your Majesty errs on the side of mercy."
    "I hear that they are leaving my kingdom in great numbers."
    "And surely it is better so, sire; for what blessing can come upon a country which has such stubborn infidels within its boundaries?"
    "Those who are traitors to God can scarce be loyal to the king," remarked Bossuet. "Your Majesty's power would be greater if there were no temple, as they call their dens of heresy, within your dominions."
    "My grandfather promised them protection. They are shielded, as you well know, by the edict which be gave at Nantes."
    "But it lies with your Majesty to undo the mischief that has been done."
    "And how?"
    "By