If the truth extorted such a confession from a nun, an honest but fanatical disciple of popery, we may understand what the reformed thought and said. A cry came from their hearts against the immorality and hypocrisy of those who ought to have been their guides. Hence there was great agitation among the priests; they came running in a distracted manner to Monseigneur de Bonmont, and asking him: 'What is to be done? must we stay or go?' [Sidenote: FLIGHT OF THE GRAND-VICAR.] The grand-vicar thought it was necessary to go. Public opinion declared unequivocally against him: he was one of those priests who called forth Sister Jeanne's reproof. 'Monseigneur keeps in his house several mistresses and agents of debauchery,' people said. 'Gaming, _mots de gueule_, dances, banquets, impudicity, and every kind of dissolute living, are his delight. He generally has five vile prostitutes at his table, seated according to their degree, two at his right and two at his left, while the oldest waits upon the others. He smiles when he talks of impudicity, and says, "It is a mere backsliding, and does not count."' Seeing the storm grow darker, the wretched priest was terrified in his conscience, and resolved to act like his bishop, and quit a city where he could no longer live as he had always lived. The Reformation was the re-establishment of morality as well as of faith. Monseigneur fled to the mountain, to solitude in the abbey of Bonmont, near Nyon, on a spur of the Jura, which overlooks Lake Leman and its rich valley. Another terror was soon to drive him thence.[604] The anger of God (spoken of by Jeanne) continued to work out his judgments: opprobrium accumulated on those priests who had thought themselves the kings of the earth. On the 18th of September, some of the citizens having caught one of them in an act of impurity, they set him on a donkey, and paraded him thus through the city, making his mistress, disguised as a lackey, walk behind him. Serious men disapproved of such buffoonery. 'Ah!' they said, 'disease, the consequence of their disorders, has so punished them, that as we see them pass along in their processions we might imagine them to be soldiers returning from the war, they are so covered with scars—true martyrs of the pope!'[605] The magistrates would have liked not to punish them, not to banish them, but to reform them. 'Give up,' they said, 'your dances, gluttony, and dissolute living, and dwell in our city according to God's law, like citizens and good friends.' But that seemed too difficult for the priests: they preferred to leave Geneva.