and conscience,
passes sentence. No, the strong and equitable people do not deal their
blows like men blind or mad, uttering cries of rage, as if to drown the
sense of some cowardly and horrible murder. No, it is not thus that they
exercise the formidable right, to which you now lay claim--for you will
have it--"

"Yes, we will have it!" shouted the quarryman, Ciboule, and others of
the more pitiless portion of the mob; whilst a great number remained
silent, struck with the words of Gabriel, who had just painted to them,
in such lively colors, the frightful act they were about to commit.

"Yes," resumed the quarryman, "it is our right; we have determined to
kill the poisoner!"

So saying, and with bloodshot eyes, and flushed cheek, the wretch
advanced at the head of a resolute group, making a gesture as though he
would have pushed aside Gabriel, who was still standing in front of the
railing. But instead of resisting the bandit, the missionary advanced
a couple of steps to meet him, took him by the arm, and said in a firm
voice: "Come!"

And dragging, as it were, with him the stupefied quarryman, whose
companions did not venture to follow at the moment, struck dumb as they
were by this new incident, Gabriel rapidly traversed the space which
separated him from the choir, opened the iron gate, and, still holding
the quarryman by the arm, led him up to the prostrate form of Father
d'Aigrigny, and said to him: "There is the victim. He is condemned.
Strike!"

"I" cried the quarryman, hesitating; "I--all alone!"

"Oh!" replied Gabriel, with bitterness, "there is no danger. You can
easily finish him. Look! he is broken down with suffering; he has hardly
a breath of life left; he will make no resistance. Do not be afraid!"

The quarryman remained motionless, whilst the crowd, strangely impressed
with this incident, approached a little nearer the railing, without
daring to come within the gate.

"Strike then!" resumed Gabriel, addressing the quarryman, whilst he
pointed to the crowd with a solemn gesture; "there are the judges; you
are the executioner."

"No!" cried the quarryman, drawing back, and turning away his eyes; "I'm
not the executioner--not I!"

The crowd remained silent. For a few moments, not a word, not a cry,
disturbed the stillness of the solemn cathedral. In a desperate case,
Gabriel had acted with a profound knowledge of the human heart. When the
multitude, inflamed with blind rage, rushes with fer