It was a long, hot August day. As evening fell, a dusty warmth pervaded the streets. Tomorrow, in the calendar of the Catholic Church, it would be the Feast of Saint Bartholomew. Both the serving girl and the apprentice had been allowed to go to their families for the day, so Simon and his parents were quite alone in the house.

Dusk was just falling when there were the sounds of a horseman coming to the door of Pierre Renard’s little house. The horseman entered quickly. It was Guy.

He came into the room where the family was sitting. His face was pale.

“Pierre. You must take these.” He held 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 have to 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.