“No! no!” they replied.
“Then, instead of being angry with that man, you ought to thank him and let him go in peace,” I added.
“Yes! yes!” replied the people, “but on condition that he shall never come again.”
Then Mons. Bechard stepped to the front, raised his hat, and cried with his powerful, melodious voice:
“People of St. Anne! you have just gained the most glorious victory which has ever been won by a people against their tyrants. Hurrah for St. Anne, the grave of the tyranny of the Bishops of Rome in America!”
That whole multitude, filled with joy, rent the air with the cry: “Hurrah for St. Anne, the grave of the tyranny of the Bishops of Rome in America!”
I then turned towards the poor bishop and his priests, whose distress and fear were beyond description, and told them:
“You see that the people forgive you the indignity of your conduct, by not allowing me to answer you; but I counsel you not to repeat that insult here. Please take the advice they gave you; go away as quickly as possible. I will go with you to your carriage, through the crowd, and I pledge myself that you will be safe, provided you do not insult them again.”
Opening their ranks, the crowd made a passage, through which I led the bishop and his long suite of priests, to their carriages.
This was done in a most profound silence. Only a few women whispering to the prelate, as he was hurrying by: