ached
to his office, and resolving to fulfil them whatever might happen,
hastened to consult with the other magistrates, but as they all gave him
very excellent reasons for not meddling, he soon felt there was no
dependence to be placed on such cowards and traitors. He next repaired
to the episcopal palace, where he found the bishop surrounded by the
principal Catholics of the town, all on their knees offering up earnest
prayers to Heaven, and awaiting martyrdom. Guy-Rochette joined them, and
the prayers were continued.

A few instants later fresh noises were heard in the street, and the gates
of the palace court groaned under blows of axe and crowbar. Hearing these
alarming sounds, the bishop, forgetting that it was his duty to set a
brave example, fled through a breach in the wall of the next house; but
Guy-Rochette and his companions valiantly resolved not to run away, but
to await their fate with patience. The gates soon yielded, and the
courtyard and palace were filled with Protestants: at their head appeared
Captain Bouillargues, sword in hand. Guy-Rochette and those with him
were seized and secured in a room under the charge of four guards, and
the palace was looted. Meantime another band of insurgents had attacked
the house of the vicar-general, John Pebereau, whose body pierced by
seven stabs of a dagger was thrown out of a window, the same fate as was
meted out to Admiral Coligny eight years later at the hands of the
Catholics. In the house a sum of 800 crowns was found and taken. The
two bands then uniting, rushed to the cathedral, which they sacked for
the second time.

Thus the entire day passed in murder and pillage: when night came the
large number of prisoners so imprudently taken began to be felt as an
encumbrance by the insurgent chiefs, who therefore resolved to take
advantage of the darkness to get rid of them without causing too much
excitement in the city. They were therefore gathered together from the
various houses in which they had been confined, and were brought to a
large hall in the Hotel de Ville, capable of containing from four to five
hundred persons, and which was soon full. An irregular tribunal
arrogating to itself powers of life and death was formed, and a clerk was
appointed to register its decrees. A list of all the prisoners was given
him, a cross placed before a name indicating that its bearer was
condemned to death, and, list in hand, he went from group to group
calling