“So perish all who hate the Holy Church! (Gottfried conceals his face in his hands.) But as soon as I had struck him, his soldiers precipitated themselves upon ours, and five of their chevaliers threw themselves upon me and surrounded me.  I had no arms:  I had laid down my lance to combat with the Lion, and my sword was broken.  I could yet, with the fragment that remained, repulse and strike down three men; but I was alone, my people were themselves surrounded, and I saw that I must perish.  It was then that I fled. (O, how I regret it!  But the cowards! they did not give me even a sword!) Yes, I fled towards the forest, hoping to find there a branch with which I could arm and defend myself; but my horse stumbled over the roots, in consequence of which I fell and fainted.

“The rest you know.  I owe my life to you; and you have taken care of me like a father.”

“Arnold is then dead!” cried Gottfried, without perceiving that the chevalier had finished his narrative.

“Do not regret it,” replied Theobald.  “He was an enemy of our faith; one of those ferocious Taborites,[3] who deny the Holy Father and demolish sacred places.”

“And it was you,” continued Gottfried, “it was you yourself who struck him, when he refused to draw his sword against you!”

“It was not I, it was the Holy Virgin, who overthrew him!  It was she to whom I had devoted my sword, and it was in her service that it was broken.  It is thus she consecrated it.  May she bless you also,—­you who, for love of her, receive me as a son!”

Gottfried had nothing to say in reply.  He wished to pour out his tears before the Lord, and left the chevalier, to whom he sent the faithful and prudent Ethbert.

“Sit down,” said Theobald to the domestic, and tell me who is this Prince of peace, of whom you spoke to me, last night.  “Was it not you who bore me hither with another servant, and who, leaning towards me, when we passed the threshold of this house, said to me:  May the Prince of peace himself receive you?  Who is this Prince?  Is it thy master, this venerable and mild old man?”

“Jesus is the Prince of peace,” replied Ethbert; “for he is love, and love does not war against any one.”

“Jesus! did you say, is the Prince of peace!  But is he not with us who support his cause, and who yet fight valiantly?”

Ethbert.  The cause of Jesus is the gospel of his grace.  His cause is not supported by the sword and lance; but is defended by truth and love.

Theobald, surprised.  Your words, Ethbert, are sermons.  Where do they come from?

Ethbert.  He who is acquainted with God speaks the word of God; and God is love.  God will not revenge and kill with hatred.  God pardons and bestows grace.

Theobald, agitated.  You would say, perhaps, that God is not with me, because I avenge myself of my enemies.  Have they not deserved my hatred?