“Begone,” he cried, casting a furious look at me, and flourishing his stick as if he would strike me. I let go the horse and fell upon my knees before this cold-blooded demon, crying, “Mercy!”
I heard the crackling and hissing of the flames, saw the thick clouds of smoke rolling over the roof of the mill, and then heard the horrible cries of those enclosed within. I sprang up again and clasped the mareschale’s knees, but God only knows what I cried to him in my anguish. He heard me not, he had no humanity; the pious tiger only looked upon the burning mill.
Soon my voice was drowned amidst the wild roar around, the cries of those consigned to death, and the thunder of the carabines. Those who endeavoured to escape the flames were shot down by the dragoons.
I started up and ran to the mill. At this moment a girl threw herself from the window. I caught her in my arms; it was Antonia my uncle’s youngest daughter.
“You are saved, Antonia,” said I, carrying away the poor creature through the smoke and fire, and came up, without knowing it, to the mareschale.
“The dog!” he cried, “I always said he was one of them!” I knew not he spoke of me.
“Down with them!” he shouted again. Two dragoons tore the fainting girl from my arms, and while she lay on the ground these ruffians shot the innocent creature at my feet.
“It serves the cursed heretics right!” said the mareschale calmly, close behind me.
“Oh! you atrocious monster! how will you answer for this deed before your and our king,—before your and our God?” I cried, foaming with rage.
He galloped up to me, gave me a blow on my head with his stick, and rode over me. Half stunned, I imagined he had given orders to kill me. I started up and snatched a carabine from the hands of a dragoon to defend my life. No one dared to lay hands on me, in spite of the mareschale’s exclaiming repeatedly, “Secure him! secure him!”