"What hatred you are entailing on the heads of your children, brother," said the Duchesse de Guise to the Cardinal de Lorraine.
"The sight makes me feel sick," said the young King, who had turned pale at the sight of all this bloodshed.
"Pooh! Rebels!" said Catherine de' Medici.
Still the hymn went on, still the axe was plied. At last the sublime spectacle of men who could die singing, and, above all, the impression produced on the crowd by the gradual dwindling of the voices, became stronger than the terror inspired by the Guises.
"Mercy!" cried the mob, when they heard at last only the feeble chant of a single victim, reserved till the last, as being the most important.
He was standing alone at the foot of the steps leading up to the scaffold, and sang:
Lord, help us in our need!
Lord, bless us with Thy grace!
And on the saints in sore distress
Let shine Thy glorious face!
"Come, Duc de Nemours," said the Prince de Condé, who was tired of his position; "you, to whom the securing of the victory is due, and who helped to entrap all these people,—do not you feel that you ought to ask the life of this one? It is Castelnau, who, as I was told, had your promise for courteous treatment when he surrendered——"
"Did I wait to see him here before trying to save him?" said the Duc de Nemours, stung by this bitter reproof.
The clerk spoke slowly, intentionally, no doubt: