was terrible, he went and came; the
fox was changed into a hyaena. He seemed suffocated to such a degree
that he could not speak; his lips moved, and his fleshless fists were
clenched. All at once he raised his head, his hollow eye appeared full
of light, and his voice burst forth like a clarion: "Down with them,
Tristan! A heavy hand for these rascals! Go, Tristan, my friend! slay!
slay!"

This eruption having passed, he returned to his seat, and said with cold
and concentrated wrath,--

"Here, Tristan! There are here with us in the Bastille the fifty lances
of the Vicomte de Gif, which makes three hundred horse: you will take
them. There is also the company of our unattached archers of Monsieur de
Chateaupers: you will take it. You are provost of the marshals; you have
the men of your provostship: you will take them. At the Hotel Saint-Pol
you will find forty archers of monsieur the dauphin's new guard: you
will take them. And, with all these, you will hasten to Notre-Dame.
Ah! messieurs, louts of Paris, do you fling yourselves thus against
the crown of France, the sanctity of Notre-Dame, and the peace of this
commonwealth! Exterminate, Tristan! exterminate! and let not a single
one escape, except it be for Montfaucon."

Tristan bowed. "'Tis well, sire."

He added, after a silence, "And what shall I do with the sorceress?"

This question caused the king to meditate.

"Ah!" said he, "the sorceress! Monsieur d'Estouteville, what did the
people wish to do with her?"

"Sire," replied the provost of Paris, "I imagine that since the populace
has come to tear her from her asylum in Notre-Dame, 'tis because that
impunity wounds them, and they desire to hang her."

The king appeared to reflect deeply: then, addressing Tristan l'Hermite,
"Well! gossip, exterminate the people and hang the sorceress."

"That's it," said Rym in a low tone to Coppenole, "punish the people for
willing a thing, and then do what they wish."

"Enough, sire," replied Tristan. "If the sorceress is still in
Notre-Dame, must she be seized in spite of the sanctuary?"

"_Pasque-Dieu_! the sanctuary!" said the king, scratching his ear. "But
the woman must be hung, nevertheless."

Here, as though seized with a sudden idea, he flung himself on his knees
before his chair, took off his hat, placed it on the seat, and gazing
devoutly at one of the leaden amulets which loaded it down, "Oh!" said
he, with clasped hands, "our Lady of Paris, my gracious