four men fell upon him and dragged him to the church with the
most ferocious cries. Once there, Lescuyer understood from the
flaming eyes that met his, from the clinched fists threatening
him, the shrieks demanding his death; Lescuyer understood that
instead of being in the house of the Lord he was in one of those
circles of hell forgotten by Dante.

The only idea that occurred to him as to this hatred against
him was that he had caused it by tearing down the pontifical
decrees. He climbed into the pulpit, expecting to convert it into
a seat of justice, and in the voice of a man who not only does
not blame himself, but who is even ready to repeat his action,
he said:

"Brothers, I consider the revolution necessary; consequently I
have done all in my power--"

The fanatics understood that if Lescuyer explained, Lescuyer
was saved. That was not what they wanted. They flung themselves
upon him, tore him from the pulpit, and thrust him into the midst
of this howling mob, who dragged him to the altar with that sort
of terrible cry which combines the hiss of the serpent and the
roar of the tiger, the murderous zou! zou! peculiar to the people
of Avignon.

Lescuyer recognized that fatal cry; he endeavored to gain refuge
at the foot of the altar. He found none; he fell there.

A laborer, armed with a stick, dealt him such a blow on the head
that the stick broke in two pieces. Then the people hurled themselves