VIVE LA MESSE! VIVE LA MESSE!" This took the butcher, who luckily was still sober, utterly aback.

He had never thought of this.

He stared at us as if the ox he had been about to fell had opened its mouth and spoken, and grievously at a loss, he looked for help to his companions.
Later in the day, some Catholics were killed by the mob.

But their deaths as far as could be learned afterwards were due to private feuds.
Save in such cases--and they were few--the cry of VIVE LA MESSE! always obtained at least a respite: more easily of course in the earlier hours of the morning when the mob were scarce at ease in their liberty to kill, while killing still seemed murder, and men were not yet drunk with bloodshed.
I read the hesitation of the gang in their faces: and when one asked roughly who we were, I replied with greater boldness, "I am M.Anne de Caylus, nephew to the Vicomte de Caylus, Governor, under the King, of Bayonne and the Landes!" This I said with what majesty I could.

"And these" I continued--"are my brothers.