The arrival of the women and children at first increased the distress of the citizens; they were discouraged and seemed to have reached the depths of misery. The sight of these beloved beings reminded them of Geneva and softened their hearts. But on a sudden they roused themselves; they went from Friburg to Berne; they spoke in private houses, in the halls of the tribes, in the public places, and appealed to the sympathy of the Swiss. They represented that the duke had put their leaders to death; that he had forced them to forsake their homes and their business, and to fly to a foreign land; that, being reduced to the greatest poverty, they had been compelled to place their wives in a position which they would once have rejected with contempt, and that, to put a climax to this misery, the city which they loved, and for whose independence they were ready to sacrifice everything, was invaded and enslaved.... These great souls were troubled; these proud citizens, so resolute before the face of a cruel prince, were depressed in the presence of their afflicted families, of their exile, of the ruin of Geneva, and tears betrayed their weakness. The Bernese looked with admiration on these noble citizens, whose tattered garments bore witness to their wretched condition. Many of the tribes of the city of Berne and the majority of the Council of Two Hundred declared for the vanquished cause, and the conclusion of an alliance with Geneva seemed near at hand. The bishop, already alarmed by Charles’s intrigues, was startled when he heard of this. If Berne accepted the reformed doctrine like Zurich, if Geneva should follow the example of Berne, the prelate seated in the chair of the bishops and on the throne of princes, would see them both taken from under him. Pierre de la Baume, like many ecclesiastical sovereigns, cared nothing for the welfare of those whom he called his subjects; but he cared a great deal for the title of prince, and would not suffer either the duke or the Swiss to deprive him of it. In order to preserve it, he would have convoked the whole world, had that been possible. Accordingly, even when at table, he felt uneasy and would pause frequently, musing with himself and saying: ‘The duke is at Geneva; the fox in the poultry-yard.... Let the fowls look out!... And then, on the other hand, they are playing tricks in the cantons.... The bears look as if they wished to descend from the mountains.... Unhappy shepherd!... I will do anything,’ he said, ‘to preserve the jurisdiction of the Church.’ He began at once, and endeavoured first to coax his flock:[382] ‘We are very glad to hear of your good disposition,’ he wrote to them; ‘and you will do us great pleasure by informing us of all that is necessary for the welfare of our dear city.... Do you, on your part, so conduct yourselves that God and the world may have cause to be satisfied.’[383] In 1525, as in 1523, the prelate’s device was still _God and the world_.