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Therewith they ran to the Walls, drawing off with them Messire Florimont and the crowd of citizens. Meanwhile the holy women and the gardener tarried about the bleeding corse. Simone la Bardine lay prostrate on the ground, kissing the good Brother's feet and wiping away his blood with her unbound hair.
But Brother Joconde made answer: "There be neither Armagnacs, nor Burgundians, nor French, nor English, but only the sons of light and the sons of darkness. Ye are lewd fellows and your women wantons." "Go to, thou apostate! thou sorcerer! thou traitor!" yelled Messire Florimont Lecocq, and lugging out his sword, he plunged it in the good Brother's bosom.
Thus they made their way in good array down the Rue Saint-Antoine, which was densely crowded with men, women, and children. Coming presently to the Place Baudet, Brother Joconde pushed through the throng and mounted a great stone that stood at the door of the Hôtel de la Truie, which Messire Florimont Lecocq, the master of the house, used to help him mount his mule.
This Messire Florimont Lecocq was Sergeant at the Châtelet Prison and a partisan of the English. So, standing on the great stone, Brother Joconde preached to the people. "Sow ye," he cried, "sow ye, good folk; sow abundantly of beans, for He which is to come will come quickly."
"Oh! ye men of Paris, ye are worse than the Pagans of old Rome." Just then the mangonels firing from the Porte Saint-Denis mingled their thunder with Brother Joconde's voice and shook the bystanders' hearts within them. Some one in the press cried out, "Death! death to traitors!" All this time Messire Florimont Lecocq was within-doors doing on his armour.
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