And even then, not quite content, he forced his neighbour, the young Duke of Savoy, to do likewise. To the valleys also the persecution should extend.
. . . . . . . .
And Gaspard set his teeth hard as he brightened up his father’s sword; and Rénée’s tears fell fast as she folded away the snowy linen she had bleached so fair.
When the violets bloomed in the hedges long processions passed that were different indeed from marriage-trains. Trumpet-calls and the tramp of troops echoed from the hills and rocks; and the white walls of the church had been splashed with crimson, and were now blackened with fire.
Once more Rome had sent her ‘terror’ to the valleys. Once more faith was to be tried to the death, and steadfast souls to win their martyr crowns.