“Brother Gorenflot,” then cried the monk. No one replied. “Brother Gorenflot,” cried the little monk, in a voice which made Chicot start; for it sounded like a woman’s. However, he rose, and speaking like the monk, said,-- “Here I am; I was plunged in profound meditation.” He feared not to reply, for the members had been counted, and therefore the absence of a member would have provoked an examination. Therefore, without hesitation, he mounted the chair and began. “My brothers, you know that I purvey for the convent, and have the right of entering every dwelling. I use this privilege for the good of religion. My brothers,” continued he, remembering Gorenflot’s beginning, “this day, which unites us, is a good one for the faith. Let us speak freely, my brothers, since we are in the house of God. “What is the kingdom of France? A body. ‘_Omnis civitas corpus est_.’ What is the first requisite of a body? Good health. How do we preserve this? By prudent bleedings at times. Now it is evident that the enemies of our religion are too strong; we must therefore once more bleed that great body we call society. This is what is constantly said to me by the faithful, who give me ham, eggs, or money for the convent.” Several murmurs of approbation interrupted Chicot, then he went on. “Some may object that the church abhors blood. But they do not say what blood, and I wager that it is not the blood of heretics it abhors. And then another argument; I said, ‘the church;’ but are we the church? Brother Monsoreau, who spoke so well just now, has, I doubt not, his huntsman’s knife in his belt. Brother la Hurière manages the spit; I, myself, who speak to you--I, Jacques Gorenflot, have carried the musket in Champagne. It now remains to us to speak of our chiefs, of whom it seems to me, poor monk as I am, that there is something to say. Certainly, it is very well and prudent to come at night under a monk’s robe, to hear Brother Gorenflot preach; but it appears to me that their duties do not stop there. So much prudence may make the Huguenots laugh. Let us play a part more worthy of the brave people we are. What do we want? The extinction of heresy. Well, that may be cried from the housetops, it seems to me. Why not march in holy procession, displaying our good cause, and our good partisans, but not like the thieves, who keep looking round them to see if the watch is coming. Who is the man who will set the example? Well, it is I, Jacques Gorenflot; I, unworthy brother of the order of St. Geneviève, poor and humble purveyor of the convent. It shall be I, who with a cuirass on my back, a helmet on my head, and a musket on my shoulder, will march at the head of all good Catholics who will follow me. This I would do, were it only to make those chiefs blush, who, while defending the Church, hide, as if their cause was a bad one.”