"Yes, the whole city, from one end to the other; and these tottering old buildings will make a brave blaze."
"A brave blaze," echoed the monk, raising his mournful eyes to the long rows of houses that so lately were the abodes of many a happy family, were as empty as open graves. They continued their way along the silent streets—silent even around the cathedral, where, early in the morning, so many thousand supplicants had knelt before God and man for mercy, but knelt in vain.
Some few were within the cathedral walls, some were lying, their ghastly faces upturned to heaven, and those who had survived were wandering across their blasted fields, bereft of kindred and home, houseless, hungry, and almost naked.
General Melac glanced at the cathedral porch. That, too, was empty and still.
"I wonder whether our men have done their work over there?" said he.
"I must go and see."
Then dismounting, and flinging his bridle to his equerry, he called upon the monk to follow him. The staff also dismounted, and an officer advanced to receive orders.
"Gentlemen, betake yourselves to the hall of council, and await my return at the great window there, opposite."
The staff obeyed, and the general, followed by his preserver, ascended the steps that led to the cathedral.
"Your excellency," whispered the monk, corning very close, "before we enter, will you allow me to say a word to you?"
"I should think you had had opportunity enough to-day to say what you wish."