"I will die first," the priest reiterated, as firmly as before.
"Die, then!" said Jean. "Die in that caldron of boiling oil."
"Give him time," cried Louis and Thomas, earnestly pleading together.
"We will give him time," said the younger brother.
"There is the clock yonder, against the wall. We will count five minutes by it. In those five minutes, let him make his peace with God, or make up his mind to speak."
They waited, watching the clock. In that dreadful interval, the priest dropped on his knees and hid his face. The time passed in dead silence.
"Speak! for your own sake, for our sakes, speak!" said Thomas Siadoux, as the minute-hand reached the point at which the five minutes expired.
The priest looked up; his voice died away on his lips; the mortal agony broke out on his face in great drops of sweat; his head sank forward on his breast.
"Lift him!" cried Jean, seizing the priest on one side. "Lift him, and throw him in!"
The two elder brothers advanced a step, and hesitated.