The streets were strewn with the bodies and dismembered limbs of the vanquished, and famished dogs were ravenously gnawing human flesh.
Such women as had escaped had been again driven by Philip's order into the cathedral, and there were left to perish by famine!
Yet, while sin and crime lifted their heads high and unabashed, there were three delinquents who met condign punishment, and their case was a singular one.
Three Germans made their way into the vestry of the cathedral, and they emerged thence clothed in gorgeous copes and chasubles. Mounting their horses outside the cathedral, they rode gaily about the burning town, their strange attire attracting laughter and derision from their comrades.
By some strange fatality this escapade came to the ears of Philip, perhaps the royal chaplain informed him of it.
The offenders were instantly sought for and arrested. Philip ordered all of the three to be hanged! His sensitive soul could not endure this outrage upon religion, though for three days and three dreadful nights he had allowed the pillage of the city to continue.
On the morning of the fourth day all soldiers were ordered into camp. The desolated city was left in peace—it was the peace of the dead!
So fell St. Quentin!