"Murderer! Assassin! Brave butcher of women and babes," howled many in the crowd, one half of which was Protestant, "noble papist! you have done your work well. Yet beware of Cavalier and Roland!"
And even as they so shouted, from more than one window high up in the roofs there came little puffs of smoke and spits of flame, showing that he was aimed at. Only the devil protected him. His time was not yet come. He was mad now with fury or drink, or thirst for human blood. Mad, stung to frenzy by resistance and contempt, even in spite of all that he had done that morning, of having glutted his ire on the helpless, which should have sufficed, all heard him roar:
"Finissons! Nîmes is heretic to the core. Make an end of it. Avancez, mes soldats. Burn, destroy, slaughter. Kill all." And he turned his horse toward where the crowd was thickest and bade the carnage begin, marshalling his troops into companies the better to distribute them about the doomed city.
But now there stepped forth one--Sandricourt, Governor of Nîmes--who forbade him to do that which he threatened; warned him that if one more house or street was injured he would himself that night set forth for Paris, and tell Louis that Montrevel was unworthy of the command he held in this distracted province.
"Ha! Sandricourt, 'tis Sandricourt," whispered one in a knot of Protestants standing near to where Martin and the man he had accosted were. "He is the best, he and Fléchier, bishop though he is. If all were like them--if Baville were--then--then we might live in peace, not see nor know the awful terrors we have seen this day. Oh, the horror of it! the horror of it!" and he buried his face in his hands as though to hide some sight that he feared might blast him.
Baville! The name recalled the man to Martin's memory. Nay, it did more, far more than that. Recalled his love, Urbaine. Set him wondering, too, if by any chance this holocaust had taken place at the Intendant's suggestion; if this was a vengeance on those who had destroyed her. For he must deem her dead by now; weeks had passed since she disappeared. Had he set the shambles fresh running with blood to avenge her loss?
He must see Baville at once, must tell him she was safe. Thereby, perhaps, more slaughter might be averted.
"Where is Baville?" he asked, turning to the group of terrified Protestants by his side. "Is he in this carnage?"
"God, he knows," one replied. "Yet he has not appeared. Not since this commenced. Were you here at the beginning?"
"Nay, I arrived but now. Is it true, can it be true there are three hundred destroyed within that?" and he glanced toward the débris of the mill, the superstructure now nothing but ashes and charred beams, with, lying above them, the red tiles of what had been a roof ere it fell in, burying beneath it--what?