But the thing seemed unattainable in the circumstances. The city was cowed; the priest knew that no dependence was to be placed on Montsoreau, whose vice was avarice and whose object was plunder. To the Archdeacon’s feeble words, therefore, “We must look,” the priest retorted sternly, “not to M. de Montsoreau, reverend Father, but to the pious of Angers! We must cry in the streets, ‘They do violence to God! They wound God and His Mother!’ And so, and so only, shall the unholy thing be rooted out!”
“Amen!” the Curé of St.-Benoist muttered, lifting his head; and his dull eyes glowed awhile. “Amen! Amen!” Then his chin sank again upon his breast.
But the Canons of Angers looked doubtfully at one another, and timidly at the speakers; the meat was too strong for them. And Lescot and Thuriot shuffled in their seats. At length, “I do not know,” Lescot muttered timidly.
“You do not know?”
“What can be done!”
“The people will know!” Father Pezelay retorted “Trust them!”
“But the people will not rise without a leader.”
“Then will I lead them!”
“Even so, reverend Father—I doubt,” Lescot faltered. And Thuriot nodded assent. Gibbets were erected in those days rather for laymen than for the Church.
“You doubt!” the priest cried. “You doubt!” His baleful eyes passed from one to the other; from them to the rest of the company. He saw that with the exception of the Curé of St.-Benoist all were of a mind. “You doubt! Nay, but I see what it is! It is this,” he continued slowly and in a different tone, “the King’s will goes for nothing in Angers! His writ runs not here. And Holy Church cries in vain for help against the oppressor. I tell you, the sorceress who has bewitched him has bewitched you also. Beware! beware, therefore, lest it be with you as with him! And the fire that shall consume her, spare not your houses!”