Françonnette on her knees, with streaming eyes, exclaims, "Oh, pity for my poor old grandmother—do not kill her!"
But the deluded populace, more confirmed than ever, by her haggard looks, that she is possessed, howl louder still—"Away with her!" and on they rush, brandishing flaming brands.
"Hold—hold!" cried a voice, and Pascal sprang amongst them. "Cowards! would you murder two defenceless women! would you burn their dwelling, as if they had not suffered enough—tigers, that you are—already the walls are hot!"
"Let the Huguenots quit the country: they are possessed by the demon. If they stay amongst us God will send down punishment. Let them go instantly, or we burn them!—Who presses forward there?"
"Ha!" cried Pascal, "Marcel here! he is her enemy!"
"Liar!" cried Marcel; "I love her better than thou, boaster as thou art! What wilt thou do for her—thou whose heart is so soft?"
"I come to assist her—to defend her."
"And I to be her husband, in spite of all, if she will be my wife."
"I come for the same purpose," cried Pascal, without shrinking from his rival's regard; then turning to Françonnette, he said, with firmness, "Françonnette, you are safe no longer; these wretches will pursue you from village to village; but here are two who love you—two who would brave death, destruction, for your sake—can you choose between us?"
"Oh, no, no! speak not of marriage. Pascal! my love is death—go! forget me! be happy without me! I dare not be yours!"