Other Genevans had arrived at Arbois before the deputies from the council. The principal mameluke chiefs, whether banished or emigrant, who found the bread of exile bitter, had started for Arbois as soon as they had heard of the canon's death. Full of that exasperation and agitated by those dreams which self-exiled and banished men ordinarily have, they endeavoured to make the bishop share their hopes and hatred. 'Nothing is juster and easier,' they said, 'than to put the leading huguenots into prison, on suspicion of being concerned in the attack upon Wernli. They will be executed, or if the people oppose, they can be transported suddenly to some castle in Savoy, as Lévrier was formerly, and then we can do our pleasure on them. After that nothing will be able to disturb the holy union of Geneva with Savoy and the pope.' But Pierre de la Baume had already recovered a little from the heroic resolution he had formed after reading the papal brief. The violent language of the mamelukes aroused all his terrors. 'The Genevans,' he said, 'are proud, independent, and fond of tumult; at the least word that displeases them, they fly to arms. No ... afraid as I am, I dare not go to Geneva.' 'Do not fear, we will accompany you,' answered the mamelukes. 'The Friburgers on their part will provide you with a guard; the Genevan catholics, who are ten to one, will do the same; the duke is resolved to support you.... It is impossible that we should not crush the rebels.' The calculation was correct and the argument unanswerable. Pierre de la Baume, finding himself summoned by the pope, and surrounded with spears and spearmen, horses and chariots, again resumed an heroic courage, and almost made up his mind to appear in the city of the huguenots. Just at this moment the Genevan deputies arrived, and the bishop-prince showed at first a very courteous humour, and replied with an amiable air that he would return to Geneva _in a month_. Always uneasy, he still tried to procrastinate. So many things may happen in a month—perhaps, finally, he may never return to his episcopal city. 'I regard you as my well-beloved subjects,' he said, 'and desire to appear as your true and good prince.' Stephen d'Adda, a decided member of the opposition, placed but little trust in these fine words. In reality they were playing a little comedy at the priory of Arbois: the bishop was afraid to go, and one or two of the deputies preferred that he should not come.[741] [Sidenote: A COUP D'ÉTAT NECESSARY.]