Later in the day, some Catholics were killed by the mob. But
their deaths as far as could be learned afterwards were due to
private feuds. Save in such cases--and they were few--the cry of
VIVE LA MESSE! always obtained at least a respite: more easily
of course in the earlier hours of the morning when the mob were
scarce at ease in their liberty to kill, while killing still
seemed murder, and men were not yet drunk with bloodshed.

I read the hesitation of the gang in their faces: and when one
asked roughly who we were, I replied with greater boldness, "I am
M. Anne de Caylus, nephew to the Vicomte de Caylus, Governor,
under the King, of Bayonne and the Landes!" This I said with
what majesty I could. "And these" I continued--"are my brothers.
You will harm us at your peril, gentlemen. The Vicomte, believe
me, will avenge every hair of our heads."

I can shut my eyes now and see the stupid wonder, the baulked
ferocity of those gaping faces. Dull and savage as the men were
they were impressed; they saw reason indeed, and all seemed going
well for us when some one in the rear shouted, "Cursed whelps!
Throw them over!"

I looked swiftly in the direction whence the voice came--the
darkest corner of the room the corner by the shuttered window. I
thought I made out a slender figure, cloaked and masked--a
woman's it might be but I could not be certain and beside it a
couple of sturdy fellows, who kept apart from the herd and well
behind their fugleman.

The speaker's courage arose no doubt from his position at the