They passed by like a whirlwind, taking the direction we had just left,
and we congratulated ourselves on having quitted their path.

"These wretches, look you," said La Croissette, "know neither mercy
nor justice; they know they are let loose on the country to do all the
mischief they can, and if they find a Paradise, they leave it a howling
wilderness."

Of this we had proof next day, when we came on their track, and found
wretched women and children in tears and lamentations impossible for us
to assuage: men that had been cudgelled within an inch of their lives,
or hung up by their wrists or their heels till they swooned, lying on
the ground uncared for and dying. Ah, what wickedness! and all under
pretence of doing God service! I cannot dwell on the terrible scenes we
saw in crossing the country. Sometimes La Croissette did some trifling
act of kindness, but the evils demanded more potent remedies.

"This unfits me for my calling," said he, one day, as he scrambled into
the cart and drove off. "How can one play the merry-andrew under such
circumstances? What will become of these poor creatures as winter comes
on, even if they can last till then? It is impossible they should all
escape from the country--they will have to conform after all, and had
they not better do so now?"

I replied, "It is written, 'Fear not, little flock; for it is the
Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom.'"

"The kingdom of France?"

"No, the kingdom of heaven."