Grandier has just been put to death,' whereat she uttered one loud
scream and fell dead, deprived by the demon of the time necessary for
giving her the assistance of our holy Mother, the Catholic Church."

A murmur of indignation arose from the crowd, among whom the word
"Assassin" was loudly reechoed; the halberdiers commanded silence with
a loud voice, but it was obtained rather by the judge resuming his
address, the general curiosity triumphing.

"Oh, infamy!" he continued, seeking to fortify himself by exclamations;
"upon her person was found this work, written by the hand of Urbain
Grandier," and he took from among his papers a book bound in parchment.

"Heavens!" cried Urbain from his seat.

"Look to your prisoner!" cried the judge to the archers who surrounded
him.

"No doubt the demon is about to manifest himself," said Father
Lactantius, in a sombre voice; "tighten his bonds." He was obeyed.

The judge-Advocate continued, "Her name was Madeleine de Brou, aged
nineteen."

"O God! this is too much!" cried the accused, as he fell fainting on the
ground.

The assembly was deeply agitated; for a moment there was an absolute
tumult.

"Poor fellow! he loved her," said some.

"So good a lady!" cried the women.

Pity began to predominate. Cold water was thrown upon Grandier, without
his being taken from the court, and he was tied to his seat. The
Judge-Advocate went on:

"We are directed to read the beginning of this book to the court," and
he read as follows:

"'It is for thee, dear and gentle Madeleine, in order to set at rest
thy troubled conscience, that I have described in this book one
thought of my soul. All those thoughts tend to thee, celestial
creature, because in thee they return to the aim and object of my
whole existence; but the thought I send thee, as 'twere a flower,
comes from thee, exists only in thee, and returns to thee alone.

"'Be not sad because thou lovest me; be not afflicted because I
adore thee. The angels of heaven, what is it that they do? The
souls of the blessed, what is it that is promised them? Are we less
pure than the angels? Are our souls less separated from the earth
than they will be after death? Oh, Madeleine, what is there in us
wherewith the Lord can be displeased? Can it be that we pray
together, that with faces prostrate in the dust before His altars,
we ask for early death to take us while yet youth and love are ours?