"And you think so too, Monsieur Bishop?"
"Assuredly, sire."
"And you. Abbe du Chayla?"
The emaciated priest spoke for the first time, a tinge of colour creeping into his corpse-like cheeks, and a more lurid light in his deep-set eyes.
"I know not about assuring your salvation, sire. I think it would take very much more to do that. But there cannot be a doubt as to your damnation if you do not do it."
The king started angrily, and frowned at the speaker.
"Your words are somewhat more curt than I am accustomed to," he remarked.
"In such a matter it were cruel indeed to leave you in doubt. I say again that your soul's fate hangs upon the balance. Heresy is a mortal sin. Thousands of heretics would turn to the Church if you did but give the word. Therefore these thousands of mortal sins are all upon your soul. What hope for it then, if you do not amend?"
"My father and my grandfather tolerated them."
"Then, without some special extension of the grace of God, your father and your grandfather are burning in hell."