Yes! The burghers, the clergy, the women, and the children, were on their knees in the market-place, crying for mercy. Melac, laughing at their wretchedness, spurred his horse onward, and plunged into their midst, scattering them right and left like a flock of frightened sheep; and the clang of his horse's hoofs on the stone pavement sounded to his unhappy victims like the riveting of nails in the great coffin wherein their beautiful city was shortly to be buried.
But they were not noisy in their grief. Here and there might be heard a slight sob, and, with this exception, there was silence in that thronged market-place.
Suddenly the great bell of the cathedral began to toll, and after it all the bells in Speier. General Melac slackened his pace, and rode deliberately along the market-place, as if to give that weeping multitude the opportunity of looking upon his cruel face, and reading there that from him no mercy was to be expected.
The bells ceased, and their tones were yet trembling on the air, when the women and children lifted up their voices and began to chant: "In my trouble I called on the Lord!"
The strain was taken up by the musicians who stood at the open windows of the council-hall, and now the burghers, the magistrates, and the clergy, joined in the holy song. The French uncovered their heads and listened reverentially, while many an eye was dimmed with tears, and many a heart bled for the fate of those whom they could not rescue.
Every man there felt the influence of the blessed words except one. General Melac was neither awed nor touched; his pale eye was as cold, his sardonic mouth as cruel as ever.
"He is perfectly hardened," murmured a monk, who was leaning against one of the columns of the cathedral. This monk was a young man, of tall, muscular build. His wide shoulders and fine, erect figure, seemed much more suitable to a soldier than to a brother of the order of mercy. Even his sun-burnt face had a proud, martial look; and as his dark, glowing eyes rested on Melac, they kindled with a glance that was not very expressive of brotherly love.
"He is without pity," thought he, "and perhaps 'tis well; for I might have been touched to grant him a death more merciful."
He moved away that he might distinguish the words that were now being poured forth from the quivering lips of the white-haired prebendary of the cathedral; but the poor old priest's voice was tremulous with tears, and the monk could not hear. He then made a passage for himself through the crowd and approached General Melac. The prebendary had ceased to speak, and there was a solemn stillness in the market-place, for every sigh was hushed to catch the words that were to follow.
Melac looked around that he might sec how many thousand human beings were acknowledging his power, then he drew in his rein and smiled— that deadly smile!