The Genevan catholics were in suspense no longer: their enterprise had miscarried. They were stupefied and furious against their allies. One of them, Francis Regis, said with a great oath: ‘We are ruined and undone: those gentlemen are not worth a straw. We made the signals, everything was in good order, but the gentry deceived us.’[609] As for the bishop, he was more frightened than disappointed. When the terrible beacon shone out from the temple of St. Pierre’s, some men, commissioned to keep him informed of what was going on, had started off full gallop, and reported to him the ominous words of the ferocious Mauloz: ‘We are betrayed!’ Instantly the poor prelate mounted his horse, and rode hastily away to join the duke. When the sun rose, not an enemy was to be seen about the city. The Genevans could not believe their eyes: the events of that memorable night seemed almost miraculous, and they were transported with joy, like men who have been saved from death. All the morning the streets were filled with people; they exchanged glances, they shook hands with each other; many blessed God; some could not believe that their catholic fellow-citizens were cognizant of the plot. One little incident removed every doubt. As some citizens happened to be passing the house of the keeper of the artillery, they heard the shrill voice of a woman screaming in great emotion: ‘Ha! traitor! you are betraying me as you betrayed the city!’ ... A man replied with abuse and blows; the screams of the wretched creature became louder and louder, and the coarse voice of another woman was mingled with hers. It was the Bossu, his wife, and servant: the keeper of the artillery had been surprised by his wife in flagrant infidelity. The huguenots, hearing the uproar, stopped and entered the house. ‘Yes,’ screamed the wife louder than ever; ‘yes, traitor, you gave Jean Levrat the keys through the loop-hole.’ Levrat, the Bossu, and the locksmith were immediately arrested.[610]