e!" cried the quarryman, spurning Goliath with his foot. "I will
begin this one!" And he seized Father d'Aigrigny by the throat.

At these words, two different groups formed themselves. One, led by
Ciboule, "made an end" of Goliath, with kicks and blows, stones and
wooden shoes; his body was soon reduced to a horrible thing, mutilated,
nameless, formless--a mere inert mass of filth and mangled flesh. Ciboule
gave her cloak, which they tied to one of the dislocated ankles of the
body, and thus dragged it to the parapet of the quay. There, with shouts
of ferocious joy, they precipitated the bloody remains into the river.
Now who does not shudder at the thought that, in a time of popular
commotion, a word, a single word, spoken imprudently, even by an honest
man, and without hatred, will suffice to provoke so horrible a murder.

"Perhaps it is a poisoner!" said one of the drinkers in the tavern of the
Rue de la Calandre--nothing more--and Goliath had been pitilessly
murdered.

What imperious reasons for penetrating the lowest depths of the masses
with instruction and with light--to enable unfortunate creatures to
defend themselves from so many stupid prejudices, so many fatal
superstitions, so much implacable fanaticism!--How can we ask for
calmness, reflection, self-control, or the sentiment of justice from
abandoned beings, whom ignorance has brutalized, and misery depraved, and
suffering made ferocious, and of whom society takes no thought, except
when it chains them to the galleys, or binds them ready for the
executioner! The terrible cry which had so startled Morok was uttered by
Father d'Aigrigny as the quarryman laid his formidable hand upon him,
saying to Ciboule: "Make an end of that one--I will begin this one!"

[40] This fact is historical. A man was murdered because a phial full of
ammonia was found upon him. On his refusal to drink it, the populace,
persuaded that the bottle contained poison, tore him to pieces.

CHAPTER XXIV.

IN THE CATHEDRAL.

Night was almost come, as the mutilated body of Goliath was thrown into
the river. The oscillations of the mob had carried into the street, which
runs along the left side of the cathedral, the group into whose power
Father d'Aigrigny had fallen. Having succeeded in freeing himself from
the grasp of the quarryman, but still closely pressed by the multitude
that surrounded him, crying, "Death to the poisoner!" he retreated step
by step, trying to parry the