The name of the Dominicans, damaged by this trial, was not much exalted by another case of _possession_ got up at Beauvais in such a way as to ensure them all the honours of a war, the account of which they got printed in Paris. Louisa’s devil having been reproached for not speaking Latin, the new demoniac, Denise Lacaille, mingled a few words of it in her gibberish. They made a plenty of noise about her, often displayed her in the midst of a procession, and even carried her from Beauvais to Our Lady of Liesse. But the matter kept quite cool. This Picard pilgrimage lacked the horror, the dramatic force of the affair at Sainte-Baume. This Lacaille, for all her Latin, had neither the burning eloquence, nor the mettle, nor the fierce rage, that marked the woman of Provence. The only end of all her proceedings was to amuse the Huguenots. What became of the two rivals, Madeline and Louisa? The former, or at least her shadow, was kept on Papal ground, for fear of her being led to speak about so mournful a business. She was never shown in public, save in the character of a penitent. She was taken out among the poor women to cut wood, which was afterwards sold for alms; the parents, whom she had brought to shame, having forsworn and forsaken her. Louisa, for her part, had said during the trial: “I shall make no boast about it. The trial over, I shall soon be dead.” But this was not to be. Instead of dying, she went on killing others. The murdering devil within her waxed stormier than ever. She set about revealing to the inquisitors the names, both Christian and surnames, of all whom she fancied to have any dealings with magic; among others a poor girl named Honoria, “blind of both eyes,” who was burnt alive. “God grant,” says Father Michaëlis, in conclusion, “that all this may redound to His own glory and to that of His Church!” CHAPTER VII. THE DEMONIACS OF LOUDUN--URBAN GRANDIER: 1632-1634. In the _State Memoirs_, written by the famous Father Joseph, and known to us by extracts only--the work itself having, no doubt, been wisely suppressed as too instructive--the good Father explained how, in 1633, he had the luck to discover a heresy, a huge heresy, in which ever so many confessors and directors were concerned. That excellent army of Church-constables, those dogs of the Holy Troop, the Capuchins, had, not only in the wildernesses, but even in the populous parts of France--at Chartres, in Picardy, everywhere--got scent of some dreadful game; the _Alumbrados_ namely, or Illuminate, of Spain, who being sorely persecuted there, had fled for shelter into France, where, in the world of women, especially among the convents, they dropped the gentle poison which was afterwards called by the name of Molinos.[90] [90] Molinos, born at Saragossa in 1627, died a prisoner to the Inquisition in 1696. His followers were called Quietists.--TRANS.