acked by fifty,
inquired into the cause. He was told of Coussinal's odd determination to
save the bishop. "He is quite right," said the captain; "the bishop has
paid ransom, and no one has any right to touch him." Saying this, he
walked up to Coussinal, gave him his hand, and the two entered the house,
returning in a few moments with the bishop between them. In this order
they crossed the town, followed by the murmuring crowd, who were,
however, afraid to do more than murmur; at the gate the bishop was
provided with an escort and let go, his defenders remaining there till he
was out of sight.

The massacres went on during the whole of the second day, though towards
evening the search for victims relaxed somewhat; but still many isolated
acts of murder took place during the night. On the morrow, being tired
of killing, the people began to destroy, and this phase lasted a long
time, it being less fatiguing to throw stones about than corpses. All
the convents, all the monasteries, all the houses of the priests and
canons were attacked in turn; nothing was spared except the cathedral,
before which axes and crowbars seemed to lose their power, and the church
of Ste. Eugenie, which was turned into a powder-magazine. The day of the
great butchery was called "La Michelade," because it took place the day
after Michaelmas, and as all this happened in the year 1567 the Massacre
of St. Bartholomew must be regarded as a plagiarism.

At last, however, with the help of M. Damville; the Catholics again got
the upper hand, and it was the turn of the Protestants to fly. They took
refuge in the Cevennes. From the beginning of the troubles the Cevennes
had been the asylum of those who suffered for the Protestant faith; and
still the plains are Papist, and the mountains Protestant. When the
Catholic party is in the ascendant at Nimes, the plain seeks the
mountain; when the Protestants come into power, the mountain comes down
into the plain.

However, vanquished and fugitive though they were, the Calvinists did not
lose courage: in exile one day, they felt sure their luck would turn the
next; and while the Catholics were burning or hanging them in effigy for
contumacy, they were before a notary, dividing the property of their
executioners.

But it was not enough for them to buy or sell this property amongst each
other, they wanted to enter into possession; they thought of nothing
else, and in 1569--that is, in the eighteenth mon