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Updated: June 12, 2025
All three had safely reached the library on their way out, when a piercing scream rang through the house; it was the scream of the spectre's sister-in-law the bishopess who had just awoke and discovered the loss of the jewels; and in another moment the bishop in his nightcap and slippers stood before them.
The bishopess stepped out under the tall trees of the garden of the villa and continued her promenade, while Ronan again addressed the holy man: "Sentence shall be passed upon thee by those whom thou hast oppressed. Ye poor ecclesiastical slaves, what shall be done to this wicked and profligate religious humbug who buries the living with the dead?" "Let him be hanged! Death to the bishop!" "Yes!
"Ronan, only the Master of the Hounds is missing. When the conflagration was at its height, he was seen by one of our men running towards the door of the bishopess; he leaped through the flames and re-issued at the garden door running with a fainting woman in his arms." "He is doubtlessly engaged in making her regain consciousness.
Little Odille, who had fallen asleep on the knees of the bishopess, awoke with a start, saying: "Ronan, are they coming to take us to the place of execution? I am ready for everything."
Oh, if my feet were not in blisters I would drag myself to your side. Oh, if my hands were not manacled I would smother you with a loving hand, as our mothers, the Gallic women of yore, killed their children in order to snatch them from slavery. Beautiful bishopess, could not you, whose arms are free, gently strangle that poor child?
In the meantime, what is the bishop doing while his bishopess, lost in revery on the balcony over the terrace, contemplates the stars, sighs into the darkness, and breathes her sorrows and her devilish hopes upon the midnight breezes? The holy man is drinking and conferring with Count Neroweg, who happens on this night to be his guest.
"By the sacred joy of this father and his two sons, beautiful bishopess, you are my wife. I shall not leave you unto death!"
At once burning and languishing, the eyes of this woman now rise towards the starry sky, now seem to peer through this mild summer's night, under shelter of which, with the stealthy step of wolves, the Vagres are wending their way towards the bishop's residence. The woman is Fulvia, Cautin's bishopess, whom he married when, still a simple friar, he did not yet aspire to a bishopric.
"Here we have for you linen, cloth, dresses, covers, mattresses, bags of grain, full pouches, provisions of all sorts. Give, my Vagres! Give, Odille, to these poor people! Give, bishopess of the Vagrery! Give and give again!" "Take take, sisters!" said the bishopess with eyes moist with compassionate tears, as she helped the Vagres to distribute the booty taken at her house. "Take, sisters!
After he was promoted to the higher office that he now fills in the hierarchy, he piously calls her "my sister," agreeable to the canons of the councils. "Woe is me!" the bishopess was saying.
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