hing to expect from men but death; as for
God, implore his mercy."

The regicide bowed his head; the renegade bent his knee. But suddenly
drawing himself up, he cried: "I voted the king's death, it is true, but
with a reservation--"

"What reservation?"

"The time of the execution."

"Sooner or later, it was still the king's death which you voted, and the
king was innocent."

"True, true," said the priest, "but I was afraid."

"Then you are not only a regicide, and an apostate, but also a coward.
We are not priests, but we are more just than you. You voted the death
of the innocent; we vote the death of the guilty. You have ten minutes
in which to prepare to meet your God."

The bishop gave a cry of terror and fell upon both knees; the church
bells rang, as if of their own impulse, and two of the men present,
accustomed to the offices of the church, intoned the prayers for the
dying. It was some time before the bishop found words with which to
respond. He turned affrighted glances in supplication to his judges one
after the other, but, not one face met his with even the consolation
of mere pity. The torches, flickering in the wind, lent them, on the
contrary, a savage and terrible expression. Then at last he mingled his
voice with the voices that were praying for him.

The judges allowed him time to follow the funeral prayer to its close.
In the meantime others were preparing a pile of wood.

"Oh!" cried the priest, beholding these preparations with growing
terror; "would you have the cruelty to kill me thus?"

"No," replied his inflexible accuser, "flames are the death of martyrs;
you are not worthy of such a death. Apostate, the hour has come!"

"Oh, my God! my God!" cried the priest, raising his arms to heaven.

"Stand up!" said the Chouan.

The priest tried to obey, but his strength failed him, and he fell again
to his knees.

"Will you let that murder be done before your eyes?" Roland asked
Cadoudal.

"I said that I washed my hands of it," replied the latter.

"Pilate said that, and Pilate's hands are to this day red with the blood
of Jesus Christ."

"Because Jesus Christ was a righteous man; this man is a Barabbas."

"Kiss your cross! kiss your cross!" cried Sabre-tout.

The prelate looked at him with a terrified air, but without obeying. It
was evident that he no longer saw, no longer heard.

"Oh!" cried Roland, making an effort to dismount, "it shall never be
said that I let a man be mu