Théodore de Bèze raised the hem of Calvin's gown and kissed it.
"Oh, master," said he, "you are indeed great!"
"Unfortunately, I am dying, my dear Théodore. If I should die before seeing you again," he went on, whispering in the ear of his Minister for Foreign Affairs, "remember to strike a great blow by the hand of one of our martyrs."
"Another Minard to be killed?"
"Higher than a lawyer."
"A king!"
"Higher still. The man who wants to be king."
"The Duc de Guise?" cried Théodore, with a gesture of dismay.
"Well," cried Calvin, fancying that he discerned refusal, or at least an instinct of resistance, and failing to notice the entrance of Chaudieu, "have we not a right to strike as we are struck? Yes, and in darkness and silence! May we not return wound for wound, and death for death? Do the Catholics hesitate to lay snares for us and kill us? I trust to you! Burn their churches. Go on, my sons! If you have any devoted youths——"
"I have," Chaudieu put in.