"Halt, my lord! It is written, thou shalt not spare the Canaanitish woman.

'Tis not to spare the King has given command and a sword, but to kill! 'Tis not to harbour, but to smite! To smite!" "Then smite I will!" the Marshal retorted, and with the butt of his pistol struck the zealot down.

Then, with as much indifference as he would have treated a Huguenot, he spurred his horse over him, with a mad laugh at his jest.

"Who touches my brother, touches Tavannes!" he yelled.

"Touches Tavannes! On! On! Bleed in August, bleed in May!" "On!" shouted his followers, striking about them in the same desperate fashion.