Visitor also of the Diocese of Angers,” the dignitary continued, puffing out his cheeks, “and Chaplain to the Lieutenant-Governor of Saumur, whose unworthy brother I am.”
“A handsome glove, and well embroidered!” Tavannes retorted in a tone of disdain. “The hand I see yonder!” He pointed to the lean parchment mask of Father Pezelay, who coloured ever so faintly, but held his peace under the sneer. “You are bound for Angers?” Count Hannibal continued. “For what purpose, Sir Prior?”
“His Grace the Bishop is absent, and in his absence”
“You go to fill his city with strife! I know you! Not you!” he continued, contemptuously turning from the Prior, and regarding the third of the principal figures of the party. “But you! You were the Curé who got the mob together last All Souls’.”
“I speak the words of Him Who sent me!” answered the third Churchman, whose brooding face and dull curtained eyes gave no promise of the fits of frenzied eloquence which had made his pulpit famous in Paris.
“Then Kill and Burn are His alphabet!” Tavannes retorted, and heedless of the start of horror which a saying so near blasphemy excited among the Churchmen, he turned to Father Pezelay. “And you! You, too, I know!” he continued. “And you know me! And take this from me. Turn, father! Turn! Or worse than a broken head—you bear the scar, I see—will befall you. These good persons, whom you have moved, unless I am in error, to take this journey, may not know me; but you do, and can tell them. If they will to Angers, they must to Angers. But if I find trouble in Angers when I come, I will hang some one high. Don’t scowl at me, man!”—in truth, the look of hate in Father Pezelay’s eyes was enough to provoke the exclamation. “Some one, and it shall not be a bare patch on the crown will save his windpipe from squeezing!”
