"Oh, my dear sons in Christ," shouted the Bishop of Troyes, endeavoring to drown the panting voice of Brunhild; "place no faith in the words of this execrable woman in matters that concern the family of our glorious King Clotaire II.—These are infamous calumnies!"
"Warriors, I wish before I die, to unveil to you all the crimes of your Kings."
"Hold your tongue, demon! Female Beelzebub!" again broke in the Bishop of Troyes in a thundering voice, and he added in a lower voice to Clotaire: "Glorious King, do you not think it is high time to have the woman gagged? If you do not, you must prepare to hear even worse accusations."
Two leudes, who at the first orders of Clotaire had looked for a scarf, threw it over Brunhild's mouth and tied it behind her head.
"Oh, monster, spewed out of Hell!" the Bishop of Troyes thereupon proceeded to apostrophise Brunhild, "if this glorious family of Frankish Kings, to whom the Lord granted the possession of Gaul in reward for their Catholic faith and their submission to the Church, if these Kings had committed the crimes that you have the audacity of charging them with in your diabolical spirit of mendacity, could they, as the visible support given to them by God in overpowering their enemies, shows them to be—could they be the beloved sons of our holy Church? Would we, the fathers in Christ of the people of Gaul, order these to obey their Kings and masters, and to submit to their will?—would we do so if they were not the elect of the Lord? Go to—witch! You are the horror of the world! The world now spews you back into hell, where you come from. Return thither, Oh, monster, who sought to unnerve your grandsons with debauchery, in order that you might reign in their place! Oh, my brothers in Christ, who of you all does not shudder with horror at the base thought of the unheard-of crime that this execrable woman has gloried in?"
That crime, the most execrable of all that the infamous Queen had admitted, aroused so profound an indignation among the assembled crowd that one, unanimous cry of vengeance issued from its midst:—
"Death to Brunhild! Let the earth be rid of her! Let her perish amidst tortures!"
CHAPTER III.
THE DEATH OF BRUNHILD.
Three days had elapsed since Brunhild fell into the power of Clotaire II. The sun had crossed the zenith. A man with a long white beard, clad in a hooded brown robe, and mounted upon a mule was following the road, upon which, escorted by the armed men of her mortal foe, and leading behind her a mob that rent the air with execrations, Brunhild had shortly before ridden to the village of Ryonne. The venerable old man was Loysik. He had escaped death by reason of the Queen's precipitate departure from the castle. One of the young brothers of the community accompanied the old monk on foot, guiding his mule by the bridle. From the opposite direction, a warrior, armed cap-a-pie, was climbing on horseback the rough road that Loysik was at the same time slowly descending with his mule. When the Frank had come within a few paces of the old man, the latter opened up a conversation with him: