‘Silence, my wife:  that is what you shall not do,’ I cried, beside myself.  I rose up; I put her away from me.  That is, I know it, what has been done.  Their God does this, they do not hesitate to say—­takes from you what you love best, to make you better—­you! and they ask you to love Him when He has thus despoiled you!  ‘Go home, Agnes,’ I said, hoarse with terror.  ’Let us face them as we may; you shall not go among them, or put thyself in peril.  Die for me! Mon Dieu! and what then, what should I do then?  Turn your face from them; turn from them; go! go! and let me not see thee here again.’

My wife did not understand the terror that seized me.  She obeyed me, as she always does, but, with the tears falling from her white cheeks, fixed upon me the most piteous look. ‘Mon ami,’ she said, ’you are disturbed, you are not in possession of yourself; this cannot be what you mean.’

‘Let me not see thee here again!’ I cried.  ’Would you make me mad in the midst of my trouble?  No!  I will not have you look that way.  Go home! go home!’ Then I took her into my arms and wept, though I am not a man given to tears.  ‘Oh! my Agnes,’ I said, ’give me thy counsel.  What you tell me I will do; but rather than risk thee, I would live thus for ever, and defy them.’

She put her hand upon my lips.  ‘I will not ask this again,’ she said, bowing her head; ’but defy them—­why should you defy them?  Have they come for nothing?  Was Semur a city of the saints?  They have come to convert our people, Martin—­thee too, and the rest.  If you will submit your hearts, they will open the gates, they will go back to their sacred homes and we to ours.  This has been borne in upon me sleeping and waking; and it seemed to me that if I could but go, and say, “Oh! my fathers, oh! my brothers, they submit,” all would be well.  For I do not fear them, Martin.  Would they harm me that love us?  I would but give our Marie one kiss——­’

‘You are a traitor!’ I said.  ’You would steal yourself from me, and do me the worst wrong of all——­’

But I recovered my calm.  What she said reached my understanding at last.  ‘Submit!’ I said, ’but to what?  To come and turn us from our homes, to wrap our town in darkness, to banish our wives and our children, to leave us here to be scorched by the sun and drenched by the rain,—­this is not to convince us, my Agnes.  And to what then do you bid us submit——?’

’It is to convince you, mon ami, of the love of God, who has permitted this great tribulation to be, that we might be saved,’ said Agnes.  Her face was sublime with faith.  It is possible to these dear women; but for me the words she spoke were but words without meaning.  I shook my head.  Now that my horror and alarm were passed, I could well remember often to have heard words like these before.

‘My angel!’ I said, ’all this I admire, I adore in thee; but how is it the love of God?—­and how shall we be saved by it?  Submit!  I will do anything that is reasonable; but of what truth have we here the proof——?’