THE INQUISITOR. We have proceeded in perfect order. If the English choose to put themselves in the wrong, it is not our business to put them in the right. A flaw in the procedure may be useful later on: one never knows. And the sooner it is over, the better for that poor girl. CAUCHON [_relaxing_] That is true. But I suppose we must see this dreadful thing through. THE INQUISITOR. One gets used to it. Habit is everything. I am accustomed to the fire: it is soon over. But it is a terrible thing to see a young and innocent creature crushed between these mighty forces, the Church and the Law. CAUCHON. You call her innocent! THE INQUISITOR. Oh, quite innocent. What does she know of the Church and the Law? She did not understand a word we were saying. It is the ignorant who suffer. Come, or we shall be late for the end. CAUCHON [_going with him_] I shall not be sorry if we are: I am not so accustomed as you. _They are going out when Warwick comes in, meeting them._ WARWICK. Oh, I am intruding. I thought it was all over. [_He makes a feint of retiring_]. CAUCHON. Do not go, my lord. It is all over. THE INQUISITOR. The execution is not in our hands, my lord; but it is desirable that we should witness the end. So by your leave—[_He bows, and goes out through the courtyard_]. CAUCHON. There is some doubt whether your people have observed the forms of law, my lord. WARWICK. I am told that there is some doubt whether your authority runs in this city, my lord. It is not in your diocese. However, if you will answer for that I will answer for the rest. CAUCHON. It is to God that we both must answer. Good morning, my lord. WARWICK. My lord: good morning. _They look at one another for a moment with unconcealed hostility. Then Cauchon follows the Inquisitor out. Warwick looks round. Finding himself alone, he calls for attendance._ WARWICK. Hallo: some attendance here! [_Silence_]. Hallo, there! [_Silence_]. Hallo! Brian, you young blackguard, where are you? [_Silence_]. Guard! [_Silence_]. They have all gone to see the burning: even that child. _The silence is broken by someone frantically howling and sobbing._ WARWICK. What in the devil’s name—? _The Chaplain staggers in from the courtyard like a demented creature, his face streaming with tears, making the piteous sounds that Warwick has heard. He stumbles to the prisoner’s stool, and throws himself upon it with heartrending sobs._ WARWICK [_going to him and patting him on the shoulder_] What is it, Master John? What is the matter? THE CHAPLAIN [_clutching at his hands_] My lord, my lord: for Christ’s sake pray for my wretched guilty soul. WARWICK [_soothing him_] Yes, yes: of course I will. Calmly, gently— THE CHAPLAIN [_blubbering miserably_] I am not a bad man, my lord. WARWICK. No, no: not at all. THE CHAPLAIN. I meant no harm. I did not know what it would be like. WARWICK [_hardening_] Oh! You saw it, then?