nor enraged by the virulent abuse to which he was subjected, continued
tranquilly, earnestly, imperatively to address the crowd. William of
Orange had that in his face and tongue "which men willingly call master-
authority." With what other talisman could he, without violence and
without soldiers, have quelled even for a moment ten thousand furious
Calvinists, armed, enraged against his person, and thirsting for
vengeance on Catholics. The postern of the Red Gate had already been
broken through before Orange and his colleague, Hoogstraaten, had
arrived. The most excited of the Calvinists were preparing to rush forth
upon the enemy at Ostrawell. The Prince, after he had gained the ear of
the multitude, urged that the battle was now over, that the reformers
were entirely cut to pieces, the enemy, retiring, and that a disorderly
and ill-armed mob would be unable to retrieve the fortunes of the day.
Many were persuaded to abandon the design. Five hundred of the most
violent, however, insisted upon leaving the gates, and the governors,
distinctly warning these zealots that their blood must be upon their own
heads, reluctantly permitted that number to issue from the city. The
rest of the mob, not appeased, but uncertain, and disposed to take
vengeance upon the Catholics within the walls, for the disaster which had
been occurring without, thronged tumultuously to the long, wide street,
called the Mere, situate in the very heart of the city.

Meantime the ardor of those who had sallied from the gate grew sensibly
cooler, when they found themselves in the open fields. De Beauvoir,
whose men, after the victory, had scattered in pursuit of the fugitives,
now heard the tumult in the city. Suspecting an attack, he rallied his
compact little army again for a fresh encounter. The last of the
vanquished Tholousians who had been captured; more fortunate than their
predecessors, had been spared for ransom. There were three hundred of
them; rather a dangerous number of prisoners for a force of eight