At one o'clock at night there came a new order that the soldiers should drive from the streets the religious, who had been upon their knees with candles in their hands, worshiping the Lord of heaven and earth, since the time when they had been driven from His presence. They were driven away, by dragging them and tearing their garments; and the cassock and cross were taken from the cross-bearer of his most illustrious Lordship. He cried out to God, begging for mercy--a thing which melted the hearts of all the city, so that nothing was heard of but "Mercy!" accompanied by the tears and apprehensions of the faithful. After this was done, at two o'clock at night there came another order, that the friars should be made to go back to their convents, which they had not done. The governor sent the sargento-mayor to tell them to go back, and not cause any more disturbance. To this they answered that they had left their convents determined to die for God, and that whether they died there or in Japon was all one; that they would not leave that place, because they were in front of the most holy sacrament; and, if it should fall from the hands of the lord archbishop, the soldiers must not approach to raise it, as this was not lawful, but they themselves must do so, as priests. The sargento-mayor went away with this answer; and as the governor was at the corner of Santa Potenziana, on the square of the archiepiscopal buildings, in disguise, he heard all that occurred. He sent another order, commanding, in the name of his Majesty, that the religious should retire to their convents; and that, if they did not do so, they would be dragged thither. Seeing his accursed intention, they thought it best to let themselves be taken away by the soldiers, but with much sadness and weeping. The Franciscan friars remained in their portico, to be near the house of the lord archbishop, so that they might watch what passed. The governor himself came personally, and made them retire and go within their convent.