Count Hannibal

For it was no common vengeance, no layman's vengeance, coarse and clumsy,

which the priest had imagined in the dark hours of the night, when his

feverish brain kept him wakeful. To see Count Hannibal roll in the dust

had gone but a little way towards satisfying him. No! But to drag from

his arms the woman for whom he had sinned, to subject her to shame and

torture in the depths of some convent, and finally to burn her as a

witch--it was that which had seemed to the priest in the night hours a

vengeance sweet in the mouth.

But the thing seemed unattainable in the circumstances. The city was

cowed; the priest knew that no dependence was to be placed on Montsoreau,

whose vice was avarice and whose object was plunder. To the Archdeacon's

feeble words, therefore, "We must look," the priest retorted sternly,

"not to M. de Montsoreau, reverend Father, but to the pious of Angers! We

must cry in the streets, 'They do violence to God! They wound God and

His Mother!' And so, and so only, shall the unholy thing be rooted out!"

"Amen!" the Cure of St.-Benoist muttered, lifting his head; and his dull

eyes glowed awhile. "Amen! Amen!" Then his chin sank again upon his

breast.

But the Canons of Angers looked doubtfully at one another, and timidly at

the speakers; the meat was too strong for them. And Lescot and Thuriot

shuffled in their seats. At length, "I do not know," Lescot muttered

timidly.

"You do not know?"

"What can be done!"

"The people will know!" Father Pezelay retorted "Trust them!"

"But the people will not rise without a leader."

"Then will I lead them!"

"Even so, reverend Father--I doubt," Lescot faltered. And Thuriot nodded

assent. Gibbets were erected in those days rather for laymen than for

the Church.

"You doubt!" the priest cried. "You doubt!" His baleful eyes passed

from one to the other; from them to the rest of the company. He saw that

with the exception of the Cure of St.-Benoist all were of a mind. "You

doubt! Nay, but I see what it is! It is this," he continued slowly and

in a different tone, "the King's will goes for nothing in Angers! His

writ runs not here. And Holy Church cries in vain for help against the

oppressor. I tell you, the sorceress who has bewitched him has bewitched

you also. Beware! beware, therefore, lest it be with you as with him!

And the fire that shall consume her, spare not your houses!"

The two citizens crossed themselves, grew pale and shuddered. The fear

of witchcraft was great in Angers, the peril, if accused of it, enormous.

Even the Canons looked startled.

"If--if my brother were here," the Archdeacon repeated feebly, "something

might be done!"