The voice suddenly stopped short; the branches of a tall oak, near which Neroweg and his leudes lay upon their knees, bent and cracked under the weight of a heavy body that was rolling down, and thus broke its fall as it landed upon the ground, but so near to the count that the latter narrowly escaped being crushed by it. This additional phenomenon added to the terror of Neroweg and his leudes; the whole troop threw themselves down flat upon their faces and murmured in their fright: "Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Have mercy upon us! Oh Lord, turn Your wrath from us!" And what was it that actually tumbled down from the tree? It was Bishop Cautin, and his was the voice that had sounded from on high. Just before the arrival of the Franks, Ronan had pricked the holy man with the point of his sword, and forced him to clamber up the tree before him and keep himself there like a fat dormouse. Ronan accompanied the holy man up the tree, and with the point of his sword drove him to speak in the name of the Lord. Ronan's purpose was served so long as the holy man limited himself to throwing Neroweg and his leudes into consternation, but as soon as the bishop evinced an inclination to call them to his aid, the Vagre seized him. The sudden move choked off Cautin's sentence before he finished, the rotund and heavy bishop slipped, and tumbling down from branch to branch fell almost upon the back of the count. But the man of God was a wily customer. Although dazed for a moment by his fall, he quickly profited by the terror in which the Franks and the slaves were thrown as they lay face down, flat upon the earth. He steadied himself upon his legs, and rubbed his sore limbs, and puffing his cheeks he shouted: "Miserable sinners! Adore your holy bishop who redescends from heaven upon the wings of the Lord's archangels!" "A miracle!" again cried the crowd with even intenser unction, and smiting their chests with redoubled fervor. "A miracle!" "Holy Bishop Cautin, who descends from heaven--protect us!" "Is it your voice I hear, holy father?" queried Neroweg in a subdued voice without daring to raise his face from the ground or looking up. "Is it your own voice, holy bishop, or is it a snare that Satan spreads for us?" "It is myself--your bishop--to doubt it is sacrilege!" "Whence come you, good father?" "I descend from heaven. After the sack of the episcopal villa, and seeing me carried away a captive by the Vagres--be they forever accursed!--the Lord sent His exterminating angels to my aid. They were clad in armor of hyacinthe, and armed with flaming swords. They snatched me from the hands of the Philistines, took me on their azure wings, and carried me to heaven--" "A miracle!" cried the entranced crowd in chorus. "A miracle!" "Our holy bishop has seen the face of the Lord! Hosanna!" "St. Cautin," cried up Neroweg, "you will protect me, dear patron saint, my dear father in Christ! Will you not bless your son?"