Excerpt
I did not know why we were running. Papa said we escaped the house with only moments to spare. What did that mean? I did not know why there were so many angry people in the streets; did not know I should be scared.

The streets of Paris were filled with men and soldiers screaming Death to the Huguenots. What was a Huguenot? Why were we still running? When were we going home?

Papa held me close against him with one arm, tightly clutching Mama’s hand with the other. She in turn held my eldest brother Denis’s hand, who grasped firmly onto our brother, Frederic.

We were being carried by the momentum of the crowd, women and children crying and screaming, as men continued to shout Death to the Huguenots. I peeked over Papa’s shoulder. Bodies were laying on the ground, covered in blood, soldiers sheathing their bloody swords. Burying my face against Papa’s shoulder, I started to wonder if I should be scared.

Papa stopped running. I dared again to glance over his shoulder. Soldiers were close behind us, they seemed to be yelling at Papa. What did the soldiers want with my Papa?

“Halt! In the name of the King,” one of the soldiers ordered.