and I will acknowledge their
justice; far I have been a man of blood."

The next who seized the dagger came near and gave his blow, saying,
"Take that for my brother, whom you let die in the 'ceps.'"

This time the dagger pierced the heart, and the abbe had only time to
ejaculate, "Have mercy on me, O God, according to Thy great mercy!"
before he fell back dead.

But his death did not satisfy the vengeance of those who had not been
able to strike him living; one by one they drew near and stabbed, each
invoking the shade of some dear murdered one and pronouncing the same
words of malediction.

In all, the body of the abbe received fifty-two dagger thrusts, of which
twenty-four would have been mortal.

Thus perished, at the age of fifty-five, Messire Francois de Langlade
Duchayla, prior of Laval, inspector of missions in Gevaudan, and
Arch-priest of the Cevennes and Mende.

Their vengeance thus accomplished, the murderers felt that there was no
more safety for them in either city or plain, and fled to the mountains;
but in passing near the residence of M. de Laveze, a Catholic nobleman
of the parish of Molezon, one of the fugitives recollected that he had
heard that a great number of firearms was kept in the house. This seemed
a lucky chance, for firearms were what the Huguenots needed most of all.
They therefore sent two envoys to M. de Laveze to ask him to give them
at, least a share of his weapons; but he, as a good Catholic, replied
that it was quite true that he had indeed a store of arms, but that they
were destined to the triumph and not to the desecration of religion,
and that he would only give them up with his life. With these words, he
dismissed the envoys, barring his doors behind them.

But while this parley was going on the conspirators had approached the
chateau, and thus received the valiant answer to their demands sooner
than M. de Laveze had counted on. Resolving not to leave him time to
take defensive measures, they dashed at the house, and by standing on
each other's shoulders reached the room in which M. de Laveze and his
entire family had taken refuge. In an instant the door was forced, and
the fanatics, still reeking with the life-blood of Abbe Duchayla, began
again their work of death. No one was spared; neither the master of the
house, nor his brother, nor his uncle, nor his sister, who knelt to the
assassins in vain; even his old mother, who was eighty years of age,
having from her bed fi