I bade Voban come to me at the little house behind the church
that night at ten o'clock, and by then I should have arranged some
plan of action. I knew not whether to trust Gabord or no. I was
sorry now that I had not tried to bring Clark with me. He was
fearless, and he knew the town well; but he lacked discretion,
and that was vital.

Two hours of waiting, then came a scene which is burned into my
brain. I looked down upon a mass of people, soldiers, couriers of
the woods, beggars, priests, camp followers, and anxious gentlefolk,
come from seclusion, or hiding, or vigils of war, to see a host of
powers torture a young girl who by suffering had been made a woman
long before her time. Out in the streets was the tramping of armed
men, together with the call of bugles and the sharp rattle of drums.
Presently I heard the hoofs of many horses, and soon afterwards
there entered the door, and way was made for him up the nave,
the Marquis de Vaudreuil and his suite, with the Chevalier de la
Darante, the Intendant, and--to my indignation--Juste Duvarney.

They had no sooner taken their places than, from a little side
door near the vestry, there entered the Seigneur Duvarney and
Alixe, who, coming down slowly, took places very near the chancel
steps. The Seigneur was pale and stern, and carried himself with
great dignity. His glance never shifted from the choir, where the
priests slowly entered and took their places, the aged and feeble
bishop going falteringly to his throne. Alixe's face was pale and
sorrowful, and yet it had a dignity and self-reliance that gave
it a kind of grandeur. A buzz passed through the building, yet I
noted, too, with gladness that there were tears on many faces.