Mansfeld bowed low in acquiescence, and the King rode slowly off in the rear of the priestly procession. The instant the King was gone the Count turned sternly on the offenders as the fifty guards drew up behind him. The old Count was the sternest disciplinarian in the Spanish army, and all men knew it. None but he could bring an enraged, riotous reiter to order. "Come hither, Friedrich," he said in cold tones of command to the leader of the German troop. "Tell me briefly, what means this?" "Yon Englishman," said Friedrich, "ran his poniard through Gustav's arm, and we were about to avenge him." "And wherefore did he that?" said Mansfeld. The reiter captain hesitated, and the Count's face grew sternly fierce. "Was that the cause?" he said, pointing to where the body of the woman lay. She had gone into a swoon, and beside her lay her severed arm. "I see," said the Count, with increased severity; "and the Englishman avenged her; was not that so?" The reiter captain still remained silent. "Yet you knew of the King's command that mercy should be shown to all women and children." Then he turned to his escort. "Take that wounded man," he said, pointing to the schwartzreiter, now craven with fear and crying for mercy, "hang him from yon turret forthwith in token that the King's order must be obeyed!" The order was instantly obeyed. The night was coming down upon the unhappy city and no deed of justice, no royal order could quell the thirst for blood, for rapine and pillage which possessed the mad soldiery who held St. Quentin in their power that night. The powers of evil took full possession of the fallen town— it was given over to sack and pillage. The chieftains had retired to the camp to celebrate their victory with banquets, the King was holding high service over the relics of St. Quentin, the army was left in possession of the city. It was burning in every part, and houses were falling with thunderous sound. Yet the soldiers dashed through flame and smoke like demons, in eager search for booty. The cellars were plundered, the garrets were searched, nothing escaped the greed and brutality of the plunderers. The streets were strewn with the bodies and dismembered limbs of the vanquished, and famished dogs were ravenously gnawing human flesh. Such women as had escaped had been again driven by Philip's order into the cathedral, and there were left to perish by famine! Yet, while sin and crime lifted their heads high and unabashed, there were three delinquents who met condign punishment, and their case was a singular one. Three Germans made their way into the vestry of the cathedral, and they emerged thence clothed in gorgeous copes and chasubles. Mounting their horses outside the cathedral, they rode gaily about the burning town, their strange attire attracting laughter and derision from their comrades. By some strange fatality this escapade came to the ears of Philip, perhaps the royal chaplain informed him of it.