"I have here ... I ought..."
"Yes, I know. You have a decree for my arrest. Why didn't you give it me before?"
"Well, I could not."
"Yes, a higher Power than man was here to restrain you."
He could not withhold his tribute of admiration. "This is a magnificent work, if it does but last. You do nothing but good. I beseech you not to hold me responsible for this act. I, like others, had judged you without seeing or hearing you."
He had, however, to obey his orders. The Maréchale and Captain Becquet, one of her officers, were put under arrest. As they were leaving that pleasant place, she exclaimed, "How strange that we are not to be allowed to worship God in these beautiful woods! What a pity to see them standing silent and unused!" To some of those who heard her voice that Sunday evening, the spot was for ever holy ground. In the audience was a young Switzer, Constant Jeanmonod, one of nature's gentlemen, who found salvation on that day, gave himself body and soul to God, and afterwards became one of the Maréchale's most devoted friends and comrades in many a hard campaign. He is now at the head of the work in Belgium.
The Maréchale and Captain Becquet were brought down to Nauchâtel and conducted to the house of M. Comtesse, President of the Council of State, who said to them, "You are my prisoners, and it is my duty to have you locked up this night." The Maréchale, however, had just received a telegram begging her to attend the funeral of a brave young Geneva convert, who had breathed a dying request that she should speak at his grave-side. She asked permission to fulfil this sacred duty, and was liberated on bail of 6000 francs.
Next morning a service was held in the garden of the farmhouse near Geneva where Charles Wyssa had died, and there the Maréchale found a lifelong friend. Mrs. Josephine Butler was present, and gave a brief address which lived long in the memory of those who heard it. Having spoken of her profound sympathy with the work of the Armée du Salut in Switzerland, she made a moving reference to the fact that she had lost her only and dearly-loved daughter, whom she had named Evangeline in the hope that her life would be dedicated to evangelisation. One fatal evening, when, the mother returned home after a long journey, her little daughter came running downstairs to meet and welcome her. In her extreme eagerness to see her mother again, the child forgot all danger, slipped over the staircase balustrade, and was taken up crushed and unconscious. In less than an hour her gentle spirit had fled.
"At the coffin of that child," said Mrs. Butler, "I consecrated my life to the relief of my suffering and oppressed brothers and sisters. My great desire was that she should become a preacher of the Word of God. And now," added the mother, throwing her arms round the Maréchale, "by another new coffin I have found my long-lost daughter, an Evangelist chosen and blessed of God." When the Maréchale had daughters of her own, she called the eldest Catherine Evangeline and the youngest Josephine.
From that garden the company moved to the churchyard, where the Maréchale spoke on the beautiful words, "Who are these which are arrayed in white robes, and whence came they?" Just as John Wyssa, the younger brother of Charles, was throwing a handful of earth on the coffin, and murmuring the words "Au revoir, mon frère," the Mayor of the Commune approached in order to arrest Miss Booth. At this juncture Col. Clibborn interposed, saying, "Sir! this is a funeral." He was a coarse, brutal fellow, very different from the Prefect of Police in Neuchâtel. The mayor not heeding was putting his hand upon Miss Booth's arm, when she turned upon him with flashing eyes, and said, "Hands off! this is holy ground! Don't you see that we are in the presence of the dead? I finish this service, and then will speak with you."