The bishop gave a cry of terror and fell upon both knees; the church bells rang, as if of their own impulse, and two of the men present, accustomed to the offices of the church, intoned the prayers for the dying. It was some time before the bishop found words with which to respond. He turned affrighted glances in supplication to his judges one after the other, but, not one face met his with even the consolation of mere pity. The torches, flickering in the wind, lent them, on the contrary, a savage and terrible expression. Then at last he mingled his voice with the voices that were praying for him. The judges allowed him time to follow the funeral prayer to its close. In the meantime others were preparing a pile of wood. “Oh!” cried the priest, beholding these preparations with growing terror; “would you have the cruelty to kill me thus?” “No,” replied his inflexible accuser, “flames are the death of martyrs; you are not worthy of such a death. Apostate, the hour has come!” “Oh, my God! my God!” cried the priest, raising his arms to heaven. “Stand up!” said the Chouan. The priest tried to obey, but his strength failed him, and he fell again to his knees. “Will you let that murder be done before your eyes?” Roland asked Cadoudal. “I said that I washed my hands of it,” replied the latter. “Pilate said that, and Pilate’s hands are to this day red with the blood of Jesus Christ.” “Because Jesus Christ was a righteous man; this man is a Barabbas.” “Kiss your cross! kiss your cross!” cried Sabre-tout. The prelate looked at him with a terrified air, but without obeying. It was evident that he no longer saw, no longer heard. “Oh!” cried Roland, making an effort to dismount, “it shall never be said that I let a man be murdered before me, and did not try to, save him.” A threatening murmur rose around him; his words had been overheard. That was all that was needed to excite the young man. “Ah! is that the way of it?” he cried, carrying his hand to one of his holsters. But with a movement rapid as thought, Cadoudal seized his hand, and, while Roland struggled vainly to free himself from this grip of iron, he shouted: “Fire!” Twenty shots resounded instantly, and the bishop fell, an inert mass. “Ah!” cried Roland. “What have you done?” “Forced you to keep your promise,” replied Cadoudal; “you swore to see all and hear all without offering any opposition.” “So perish all enemies of God and the king,” said Sabre-tout, in a solemn voice. “Amen!” responded the spectators with one voice of sinister unanimity. Then they stripped the body of its sacerdotal ornaments, which they flung upon the pile of wood, invited the other travellers to take their places in the diligence, replaced the postilion in his saddle, and, opening their ranks to give passage to the coach, cried: “Go with God!” The diligence rolled rapidly away.