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"Hoc est corpus," the other muttered, his dreamy gaze on the table. "If he met us then, on his way to the house and we had bell, book, and candle, would he stop?" "He would not stop!" Father Pezelay rejoined. "He would not?" "I know the man!" "Then " but the rest St.
"Ay, ay!" cried Marshal de Tavannes, "you say well, brother! Let him!" "And if he will not, I will!" Tavannes repeated. "Let that be the test, sire." The King wheeled suddenly to Father Pezelay. "You hear, father?" he said. "What say you?" The priest's face grew sallow, and more sallow.
"No need to look surprised, noble sir," the lean man, who had joined them, answered in a soothing tone. "Who kills to-night does God service, and who serves God much may serve himself a little. 'Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn, says good Father Pezelay." "Hear, hear!" the cripple chimed in eagerly, his impatience such that he danced on his toes.
But Count Hannibal paid no heed to them, and had already turned on his heel when Father Pezelay spurred his mule a pace or two forward. Snatching a heavy brass cross from one of the acolytes, he raised it aloft, and in the voice which had often thrilled the heated congregation of St. Magloire, he called on Tavannes to pause. "Stand, my lord!" he cried. "And take warning!
His white hands, gay with rings, were well cared for; his peevish chin rested on a falling-collar of lace worthy of a Cardinal. But though the Bishop's Vicar was heard with deference, it was noticeable that when he had ceased to speak his hearers looked to the priest on his left, to Father Pezelay, and waited to hear his opinion before they gave their own.
But a second glance failed to discover either litter or bier; and a nearer approach showed that the travellers, whether they wore the tonsure or not, bore weapons of one kind or another. Suddenly Madame St. Lo clapped her hands, and proclaimed in great astonishment that she knew them. "Why, there is Father Boucher, the Cure of St. Benoist!" she said, "and Father Pezelay of St. Magloire.
"I speak the words of Him Who sent me!" answered the third Churchman, whose brooding face and dull curtained eyes gave no promise of the fits of frenzied eloquence which had made his pulpit famous in Paris. "Then Kill and Burn are His alphabet!" Tavannes retorted, and heedless of the start of horror which a saying so near blasphemy excited among the Churchmen, he turned to Father Pezelay.
You don't need it, sir?" he continued, again proffering the whetstone. "No? Then I'll give my blade another whet, in the name of our Lady, the Saints, and good Father Pezelay!" "Ay, and give me a turn!" the lean man cried, proffering his weapon. "May I die if I do not kill one of the accursed for every finger of my hands!" "And toe of my feet!" the cripple answered, not to be outdone.
Pezelay retorted. "He has not twenty with him. Do you do as I say, and leave the rest to Heaven!" "And to you, good master?" the other answered. "For it is not all you are going to do," he continued, with a grin, "that you have told me. Well, so be it! I'll do my part, but I wish we were in Paris. St. Genevieve is ever kind to her servants."
And Thuriot's face lightened also. "He must intend to hang one or two of the ringleaders, before he deals with the herd." "Think it not!" Father Pezelay cried in his high shrill voice. "I tell you the woman has bewitched him, and he will deny his letters!" For a moment there was silence. Then, "But dare he do that, reverend Father?" Lescot asked slowly and incredulously. "What?
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