was ten at night; he had his court about him, priests, soldiers, and
servants, to the number of twelve or fifteen; and now dreading the
insolence of a conventicle below his very windows, he ordered forth his
soldiers to report. But the psalm-singers were already at his door,
fifty strong, led by the inspired Seguier, and breathing death. To their
summons, the archpriest made answer like a stout old persecutor, and bade
his garrison fire upon the mob. One Camisard (for, according to some, it
was in this night's work that they came by the name) fell at this
discharge: his comrades burst in the door with hatchets and a beam of
wood, overran the lower story of the house, set free the prisoners, and
finding one of them in the vine, a sort of Scavenger's Daughter of the
place and period, redoubled in fury against Du Chayla, and sought by
repeated assaults to carry the upper floors. But he, on his side, had
given absolution to his men, and they bravely held the staircase.

'Children of God,' cried the prophet, 'hold your hands. Let us burn the
house, with the priest and the satellites of Baal.'

The fire caught readily. Out of an upper window Du Chayla and his men
lowered themselves into the garden by means of knotted sheets; some
escaped across the river under the bullets of the insurgents; but the
archpriest himself fell, broke his thigh, and could only crawl into the
hedge. What were his reflections as this second martyrdom drew near? A
poor, brave, besotted, hateful man, who had done his duty resolutely
according to his light both in the Cevennes and China. He found at least
one telling word to say in his defence; for when the roof fell in and the
upbursting flames discovered his retreat, and they came and dragged him
to the public place of the town, raging and calling him damned--'If I be
damned,' said he, 'why should you also damn yourselves?'