"My orders must be carried out," said he, in a loud and distinct voice. "Speier must be razed to the ground, and I am sorry that its inhabitants were unwilling to profit by the permission I gave them to emigrate to France. They would have been kindly received there."
"We hope for mercy," was the reply of the prebendary. "Oh, general, let us not hope in vain!"
"No mercy shall be given you," said Melac, who, turning to General Montelas, remarked, "What an advantage I have over you! I know their language, and can understand all their expressions of grief! It is a comic litany!"
"Demon, I will repay thee!" muttered the monk. And, coming close to the general's horse, he laid his hand upon the rein.
"What do you mean, sirrah?" cried Melac. "Withdraw your hand."
"Your excellency," replied the man in pure French, "allow me to station myself at your horse's head, for you may need my help to- day."
"Your help? Wherefore?"
"The work in which you are engaged is apt to provoke personal hostility. I dreamed last night that I saw you weltering in your blood, enveloped in flames. I am superstitiouns—very; particularly as regards dreams, and I left the hospital where I was engaged in nursing the sick, on purpose to protect your excellency from secret foes."
"Protect me! Who do you suppose would he so bold as to attack me?
Not this whining multitude around us."
"Nobody knows to what acts despair may drive the meekest of men," was the monk's reply.