"For what?"
"He showed the Demoiselles Sexti the road to Chambery--they went dressed as boys. The girls escaped into the mountains. Masip is doomed. He dies to-morrow."
"God help him!"
"Him! God help all, Martin. He hunts us everywhere. Some of my brother preachers have been executed; I myself am suspended, my hour may come--to-night--to-morrow. Sooner or later it must come. Then for me the wheel or the flames or the gibbet--there." And he pointed down the street toward where the bridge was on which Fleuville's body had been hanged.
"Never! Never!" Martin exclaimed, touching the old man's arm. "Never, while I have a sword by my side." Then added, a moment later:
"My friend, I must declare myself. While all are so brave, all going to, or risking, their doom, I am but a craven hound to wear a mask. To-morrow I announce--or rather denounce--myself as a Protestant. My aunt died ere I could tell the secret which would have caused her to curse me instead of leaving me her heir. Here, I will shelter myself under that secret no more. To-morrow I see this abbé in his own house, to-morrow I defy him to do his worst on me as on others. I proclaim myself."
"No, no, no!" the old pastor cried, springing at him, placing his hand upon his lips to prevent further words from being heard or from penetrating outside. "No, no! In God's name, no! I forbid you. If you do that, how will you ever find de Beauvilliers--de Rochebazon, as he is if alive--or, he being dead, find his children? I forbid you," he reiterated again and again in his agitation. "I forbid you."
"Forbid me? Force me to live a coward in my own esteem? To see those of my own faith slaughtered like oxen in the shambles and stand by, a poltroon, afraid to declare myself?"
"I forbid you. Not yet, at least. Remember, too, you are an Englishman, of France's deepest, most hated foes; your doom is doubly threatening. Yet, oh, oh, my son," he exclaimed in a broken voice, "how I love, how I reverence you! Brave man, brave, honest Protestant, I love--my God!" he exclaimed, changing his tone suddenly, desisting in his speech, "My God! what is that?"
Desisted, turning a stricken, blanched face upon the younger man, who had reached for his sword and sash and was already donning them, while he whispered through white lips, "It has come! It has come! The storm has burst," while even as he spoke he fell on his knees by the table, and sinking his head into his hands, commenced to pray long and silently.