* *

In the city of Nantes the rumour of the taking of Gilles de Retz had
spread like wild-fire, and as the cavalcade rode through the streets,
the windows rained down curses and the citizens hooted up from the
sidewalks. But the marshal kept his haughty and disdainful regard,
appearing like a noble nature who perforce companies for the nonce
with meaner men. He sat his favourite charger like a true companion of
Dunois and De Richemont, and, as more than one remarked, on this
occasion he looked like the royal prince and the Duke of Brittany the
prisoner.

So in the New Tower of the Castle of Nantes, Gilles de Retz was placed
to wait his trial. There is no need to give a long account of it. The
documents have been printed in plain letter, and all the world knows
how Clerk Henriet faltered under the stern questioning of Pierre de
l'Hopital, and how finally he declared fully all these iniquities
without parallel in which he had borne so cruel a part.

Poitou, more faithful to his master, held out till the threat of
torture and the appeals of his friend Henriet broke him down. But the
attitude and bearing of the chief culprit deserve that the historian
should not wholly pass them over.

Even in his first haughty and contemptuous silence, Gilles de Retz was
shifting his ground, and with a cool unheated intelligence orienting
himself to new conditions. It soon became evident to his mind that the
powers of Evil in which he trusted, and to whose service he had
consecrated his life and fortune, had befooled and betrayed him.

Well--even so would he fool them--if, by the grace of God, there were
yet any merit or hope in the service of Good. The priests said so. The
Scripture said so, and they might be right after all. At least, the
thing was worth trying.

For a cold and calculating brain lay behind the worst excesses of the
terrible Lord de Retz. The religion of the Cross might not be of much
final use--still, it was all that remained, and Gilles de Retz
determined to avail himself of it. So once more he apostasised from
Barran-Sathanas to Jehovah.

With an effrontery almost too stupendous for belief, he arrayed
himself in the white robes of a Carmelite novice and spent his prison
days in singing litanies and in private confession with his religious
adviser.

When the great day of the trial at last arrived, the marshal, who had
expected on the bench the weak kindly countenance of Duke John, was
called upo