“You ought to set the example of obedience and here you are doing the other thing. If you are a citizen and a Frenchman, obey the nation.”
“Bravo, Billet!” cried the multitude. “To the altar, with the priest.”
Encouraged by the acclamations, Billet lugged out from his hall the first priest who had given the signal for counter-revolution.
“I am a martyr,” groaned the priest, comprehending that resistance was impossible in the farmer’s vigorous hands, “I call for martyrdom!” And as he was hurried along he sang “Good Lord, deliver us!”
This crowd conducting him was the cause of the turbulence towards which Pitou was marching his cohort. But on seeing the reason, he and Catherine appealed to the farmer with the same voice.
Untouched, the latter carried the prize up to the altar where he let him fall.
“I proclaim you unworthy to serve at this altar which you disdained,” said Billet: “no man should go up these steps unless his head is filled with these feelings, the desire of liberty, devotion to the country and love of mankind. Priest, have you these sentiments? if so, go up boldly and invoke our Maker. But if you do not feel you are the foremost of us all as a citizen, give place to the more worthy, and be off!”
“Madman, you do not know what you are declaring war upon,” hissed the priest, retiring with uplifted finger.
“I do know, if they are like you, vipers, foxes, wolves,” returned Billet: “all that sneak and poison and tear in the shade. Come at me, then—I can face ye, in the open!” he concluded, smiting his broad chest.
During a silent moment the throng parted to let the priest skulk through, and, closing, remained mute and admiring the vigorous man who offered himself as target to the terrible power to which half the world was enslaved at that era.