"And there's Arnolfo Battista," said a third;--"he went out to try
to speak to them, and they have killed him,--cut him down with their
sabres."

"Hurry! hurry! barricade the door! arm yourselves!" was the cry from
other voices.

"Shall we fight, father? shall we defend ourselves?" cried others, as
the monks pressed around their Superior.

When the crowd first burst into the room, the face of the Superior
flushed, and there was a slight movement of surprise; then he seemed to
recollect himself, and murmuring, "I expected this, but not so soon,"
appeared lost in mental prayer. To the agitated inquiries of his flock,
he answered,--"No, brothers; the weapons of monks must be spiritual, not
carnal." Then lifting on high a crucifix, he said,--"Come with me, and
let us walk in solemn procession to the altar, singing the praises of
our God."

The monks, with the instinctive habit of obedience, fell into procession
behind their leader, whose voice, clear and strong, was heard raising
the Psalm, _"Quare fremunt gentes"_:--

"Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing?

"The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel
together, against the Lord, and against his Anointed, saying,

"'Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from us.'