But he was no madman, and at the moment the least reflection would have sent him about to seek another road.

Unfortunately, as he hesitated a man sprang with a gesture of warning to his horse's head and seized it; and Tavannes, mistaking the motive of the act, lost his self- control.

He struck the fellow down, and, with a reckless word, rode headlong into the procession, shouting to the black robes to make way, make way! A cry, nay, a shriek of horror, answered him and rent the air.
And in a minute the thing was done.

Too late, as the Bishop's Vicar, struck by his horse, fell screaming under its hoofs--too late, as the consecrated vessels which he had been bearing rolled in the mud, Tavannes saw that they bore the canopy and the Host! He knew what he had done, then.

Before his horse's iron shoes struck the ground again, his face--even his face--had lost its colour.